THINGS I REMEMBER 



FREDERICK TOWNSEND MARTIN 




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THINGS I REMEMBER 



BY 



FREDERICK TOWNSEND MARTIN 



WITH EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS 




NEW YORK 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 

MCMXIIl 



Copyright, 191 3, by 
JOHN LANE COMPANY 



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CONTENTS 

CHAPTER I 

My ancestors: The overcrowded Mayflower: The 
Townshends: Henry Townshend protects the 
Quakers: He is imprisoned: Life in the New 
World: My father: Henry Hull Martin: His 
early struggles: A devoted son: The story of a 
shawl: Courtship and marriage: A leading ques- 
tion: Brains versus dollars: My birth: Early im- 
pressions: My grandmother: Mrs. Townshend: 
The end of the passage: An enchanted room: 
The romance of history: A honeymoon trip: 
My grandmother's voyage up the Hudson: A 
romantic episode: The great chain: Rip Van 
Winkle land: Home at last: My grandmother's 
recollections of Old New York : A cultured circle : 
Terpsichore not Tango: How society amused 
itself : Roderick Mcintosh : "A hundred pipers an' 
a', an' a' " : My grandmother Martin : A Puritan 
of Puritans: Her methods: I resent her interfer- 
ence : My own territory : Nemesis at the window : 
A whipping Pp. 25-47 

5 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER II 

My father: His theories: "Lead us not into 
temptation": My mother, her gentle influence: 
Pre-natal conditions: Her sympathy: "Just a 
mother with a mother's heart": Living books: 
My accident: A long convalescence: My hero: 
Uncle Frederick and the butler's son: An expedi- 
tion to California: The Argonauts: El Dorado: 
Misfortune dogs my uncle's footsteps: The Old 
Man of the Sea: The Nugget: A dreamer of 
dreams: New York: I visit the Battery: "They 
that go down to the sea in ships": I go to Union 
College: Life in Albany: The old Schuyler Man- 
sion: Family mirth-makers: A funeral at Middle- 
town: A recipe to stop nose-bleeding: A chapter 
of accidents: My uncle's anger: From bad to 
worse: After the funeral: My uncle's ultimatum: 
Franklin Townsend : His violin : The poodle that 
knew the time: The responsibilities of wealth: 
A man of means: Mr. Townsend and the heiress: 
How General Howard James drilled his servants: 
A troop of Amazons: The simple life: A "good 
atmosphere": My first play: Death of my mother: 
"It is deep happiness to die, yet live in love's dear 
memory" Pp. 48-69 



CONTENTS 



CHAPTER III 

My brother's marriage: Miss Cornelia Sherman: 
I look out of the window: A pretty picture: 
Changes: From hotel to convent: Sharon Springs: 
I meet Ward McAllister: A serenade: I visit 
New York: Old landmarks: Mrs. Ronalds: Her 
famous costume ball: Music: The illuminated 
harp: The triumph of electricity: "Age cannot 
wither nor custom stale her infinite variety": 
Life in Albany : Lord Palmerston and the beggar : 
I am elected President of the Young Men's Asso- 
ciation: A reception: No admittance for my 
father: My first speech: Mrs. Moulton sings at 
Albany: A favourite at the Tuileries: Charlotte 
Cushman: I recall her first triumph: The dead 
President's progress Pp. 70-90 

CHAPTER IV 

Newport in the days of my youth: The present 
town of palaces: Mrs. Paran Stevens: A great 
social leader: Her sister Miss Fanny Reed: Sung 
into society: A Patti of the salons: A concert 
during the war: Mrs. Stevens and Mr. Travers: 
"Cold tea, hot Apollinaris, and bad music": The 
Griswold Grays: An ideal cottage: Two dinners: 



CONTENTS 

Beauty and brains: The fountain: Why the ceil- 
ing fell down: Peter Marie: A gentleman of the 
old school: His poetical tendencies: Invitations 
in verse: Newport's vanished charm: Belle Vue 
Avenue of to-day: Motors and millionaires: 
Artificiality ever present: A trip to Europe: My 
dreams are realized: The old Russia: Fourteen 
days at sea : We arrive in London : The State 
entry of the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh: A 
snowy reception: I see Queen Victoria: Her 
strength of character: On the balcony of Buck- 
ingham Palace: Prince Eddy and Prince George: 
Alone in London: Another imposing sight: The 
funeral of Napoleon HI: All is vanity: The 
Prince Imperial: A gallant figure: A procession 
of Imperialists : Shattered hopes : One whom death 
has forgotten: The Empress Eugenie: Vive I'Em- 
pereur : We return to London : I write an account 
of our experiences: The lost art of letter writing: 
The cable saves a sheet of note-paper Pp. 91-109 



CHAPTER V 

Paris : Memories of Malmaison : Two bad Queens : 
La Grande Duchesse : Fair Sinners : A clergyman's 
daughter: My compatriots: Mrs. Moore: Mrs. 
Ayers defies Time: A salon at seventy: The 



CONTENTS 9 

Baronne de la Selliere: Emma Eames: I meet 
Sargent: Bonnet and Carolus Duran: Rodin: His 
personality: The tragic eyes of Madame X: I 
hear her story: A callous mother: Society is 
shocked: Miss Reed: "The finder of stars": 
Sybil Saunderson: She sings to Massenet: Her 
success: She introduces Mary Garden to Miss 
Reed: A woman of temperament: Madame 
Melba: The meaning of work: Melba memories: 
A cake-walk at Palm Beach : Alone in New York : 
Ministers and their wives: The right people: 
How Mrs. Henry White separated the sheep from 
the goats : Mrs. Whitelaw Reid : General Porter : 
The McCormicks : Mr. Goodrich and Loie Fuller 

Pp. 110-134 



CHAPTER VI 

Victor Hugo's funeral : Under the Arc de Triomphe : 
Severe simplicity: A poet's progress: The heart 
of the people: I recall another funeral: The 
King of Hanover: "The divinity which doth 
hedge a king" : Paris as a spectacular background : 
My apartment: My hobby: A man of peace: I 
give a party in the Bois : Cleo de Merode : Flaming 
June: A long wait: Cleo appears: Why she was 
late: The ordeal by sunlight: Was she afraid of 



10 CONTENTS 

freckles?: The Gallic temperament: Mrs. Potter 
Palmer: A champion of women: The business ca- 
pacity of the American woman: "Do it yourself": 
The Duchesse de Chaulne : "Dook or no dook" : 
Mrs. Campbell's common-sense: Vanished faces: 
"One must have courage": Rome and the Popes: 
Pius IX questions me about America: "Au Re- 
voir": My audience with Leo XIII: A dignified 
Pope: "Are you of my faith?" : I explain that I am 
anxious to receive the blessing of a good man: I 
see Pius X: His extreme simplicity: I am pre- 
sented at the Quirinal: Queen Margherita: Her 
charm: "The Pearl of Savoy": Social Life in 
Rome: I meet Madame Ristori: Talks over the 
tea-cups: Ristori tells me about her meeting with 
Queen Isabella of Spain: "Anything you like to 
ask is granted" : "The life of a poor man" : Isabella 
keeps her promise: F. Marion Crawford: "A 
Cigarette Maker's Romance" Pp. 135-152 



CHAPTER VII 

Looking backward: London in the seventies: 
The growth of hotel life : Clubland : The border 
line : The repose of society : Modern woman : Suc- 
cessful sinners: Vows sometimes made to be 
broken: The season: Then and now: The day of 



CONTENTS 11 

the automobile: Church versus car: The three 
arbiters of fashion: The Mahlon Sands': Mrs. 
Sands' friendship with the late King: A cold din- 
ner: At Waddesdon Manor: A house-warming: 
Interesting visitors: I talk to the Prince of 
Wales: His visit to America: The Souvenir 
Cigar: H.R.H. is amused: His dislike of Ameri- 
can men: His criticism of adverse criticism: The 
late King's ideas of dignity: Where fools rush in: 
The aspirant's downfall: The Rothschilds: How 
they purchased pictures: Miss Alice Rothschild: 
Tears have their uses: I meet Mr. Gladstone: His 
opinion of the masses: Their ultimate power: 
New ideas: How Mr. Gladstone defied time: The 
cobwebs of the Old Country: The power of the 
Press: Houses and their occupants: What the 
supersensitive experience: Death of Mahlon 
Sands: His talents: A witty answer: His accident: 
"Better death than life without thee": A last in- 
terview with Mrs. Sands: Her sudden end: "Ills 
have no weight and tears no bitterness" 

Pp. 153-167 

CHAPTER VIII 

Cowes: Pleasant Recollections: I meet the late 
King : The value of royal anecdotes : A reviewer's 
disapproval : Viscount de Stern : Alexander Yorke : 



12 CONTENTS 

A wonderful mimic: He imitates Queen Victoria: 
A summons at the window: "I'm a done man": 
The Prince's command: "What will the Queen 
say?": Alec plays hymns: I meet Sir Oscar Clay- 
ton: A distinguished physician: His weakness for 
titles: "I've met seven Duchesses": It is worry 
that kills: Want of money often the root of 
Ijodily evil: Cheques instead of prescriptions: The 
Prince comes to supper: The missing singers: 
H.R.H. consoles Stern: "A Feast of Lanterns": 
An English peerage for £70,000: Lord Wands- 
worth : An election story : Mrs, Mackay at Cowes : 
Her marvellous jewels: Dancing the "Boston": 
Lady Henry Lennox: What constitutes enjoy- 
ment?: Cowes recalls Cannes: The Earthquake: 
The late King at Cannes: Mrs. Campbell of 
Craigie: "Lend me your valet": He pours the 
coffee over the cloth: H.R.H. 's kindness: Adele 
Grant and Lord Cairns: Monte Carlo: Gambling 
resorts in the sixties: The four friends: Garcia: 
His system: The Prince and the gambler: Dis- 
reputable company: Where did the Duchesses 
come in?: The clergyman and his daughters: 
Playing by proxy: Twice lucky: Why "twenty- 
three" was wrong Pp. 168-186 



CONTENTS 13 

CHAPTER IX 

My first meet: Neville Holt: Lady Clarendon: 
A visit to Berkeley Castle: Where King Edward 
H was murdered: Old-fashioned formality at 
Berkeley Castle: Harry Sands does not put in an 
appearance at breakfast: I explain the reason: 
House or hotel: A peeress of the old regime: 
Morning and evening prayers at Lady Galway's: 
Careless domesticity: The woman who didn't 
know her own house: The late Lady Holland: I 
take tea with her: A family spectre: Lowther 
Lodge: Singleton: A tragic visit: Sudden death 
of Lord Swansea : A night of terror : I see Coombe 
Abbey for the first time: Tranby Croft: Mrs. 
Arthur Wilson's kindness: Her superstition: The 
opal necklace: Jewels and their wearers: Mrs. 
Bradley Martin acquires some of the French 
Crown Jewels: Marie Antoinette's necklace: "A 
band of blood" : The story of the missing pendant : 
The butler's secret: A thief in the night: The 
pearl snatcher: Andrew Carnegie vetoes the wear- 
ing of jewels: A relic of barbarism: Simplicity 
versus Sapphires : The late Duchess of Devonshire : 
Her love of money: A great social leader: An 
Ascot story: James R. Keene and the Duchess: 
A ladies' luncheon: The best for a debutante: 
"Beauty, wealth or brains?": The women's ver- 



14. CONTENTS 

diet: I visit Cawdor Castle: "Not angles, but 
angels": From Cawdor to Culloden: Moy Hall: 
Relics of Prince Charlie: King George V praises 
the shooting: Charlcote: The woods: The stately 
homes of England : Sacred trusts : The death-duties 
which never leave us: I must not moralize: Mrs. 
Stuyvesant Fish prevents me from sermonizing 

Pp. 187-206 

CHAPTER X 

The advent of the American woman in English 
society: How the Invasion came about: Miss Je- 
rome becomes Lady Randolph Churchill: The 
Stevens-Paget alliance: The American heiress in 
fiction: An impossible character: The Girl from 
the Golden West: Then and now: The education 
of an heiress: A strenuous life: The Invasion 
viewed with alarm by Society: A new influence: 
The American's progress: The heiress realizes her 
own value: The open-handed daughters of Lib- 
erty: The uses of advertisement: A good invest- 
ment: Lady Paget: The belle of Newport: An 
ambitious mother: A season in London: The late 
King as a matchmaker: Mr. Paget proposes: He 
is refused: He proposes a second time: Minnie 
Stevens becomes Mrs. Paget: A leading hostess: 
Lady Paget's personality : Her pluck : Seven opera- 



CONTENTS 15 

tioiis ! : A society woman's wish : Helen Beckwith : 
Her marriage with the Hon. Dudley Leigh: 
"Once a friend, always a friend": Lady Naylor- 
Leyland: Her beauty: Goethe's Margaret: How 
American women adapt themselves to new condi- 
tions: Are they ever home-sick?: Mrs. George 
Keppel recognizes American influence : The strong- 
hold of dukedom: Lesser lights: The youngest 
American brides: Consuelo Duchess of Manches- 
ter : A penniless girl : Her poverty : She entertains 
the late King at dinner: Where the dishes came 
from: Mrs. Ronalds: The story of the necklace: 
Madame Waddington : She mixes with the crowd : 
A happy answer: The late Lady Curzon: Her 
role at Newport: A great lady Pp. 207-224 



CHAPTER XI 

William Gillett: The Bachelors' Club: The Clear- 
ing House System: Merit is passed over: Mr. 
Gillett's radium parties: Charles Dalison: A 
beau of the seventies: The end of a worldly life: 
The Whitelaw Reids: A hospitable ambassador: 
Mr. Choate: His wit: "Just start cackling, 
madam": The late Bradley Martin and his con- 
nection with Balmacaan: My brother rents Lake- 
field: The ghost there: Bradley takes over Bal- 



16 CONTENTS 

macaan from Henry Allsop: A beautiful home: 
The shores of Loch Ness : Our love for Scotland : 
The joy of life: Another ghost: The spectral 
coach: Lord Lovat's funeral: Unlimited whisky: 
A two-mile walk: Lady Burton and the late King: 
"One thing needful": Edward VII decorates Lord 
Brougham's butler: Our theatrical and literary 
neighbours: Sir Henry Irving: The Terrys: Mrs. 
Lewis lets her cottage to Barrie: Sir James and 
the donkey: His love of children: His retiring 
disposition: Memories of Bradley: The best of 
brothers: Speaking in public: I go down to the 
East End : An audience at Whitechapel Pp. 225-240 



CHAPTER XII 

The lure of travel: Its value as an education: A 
six months' tour or six years at college?: My 
first glimpse of Spain: Tarifa: A Moorish hill 
town: The old fortress: A Spartan father: By 
moonlight to Begar: Cleanly Cadiz: Madrid: 
The usual sight-seeing: June in Norway: Homely 
incidents: Cold water is thrown on Howard's 
efforts to explain: Towels at last are forthcom- 
ing: The land of untrodden ways: Trippers in 
Switzerland: A walking tour in the Tyrol: A 
peaceful spot: "Surely we must be very near 



CONTENTS 17 

Heaven?": "You must climb higher": I am mis- 
taken for an Archduke: Wasted ammunition: 
We journey to the Holy Land: Illness at Bey- 
rout: The last Emperor of Brazil comes to see 
me: The sight which gave me life: "The Stars 
and Stripes": Round the world with Harry Sands: 
San Francisco: The Duke of Atholl: Japan: I 
see Fusiyama : The magic of the East : We go up- 
country: Then and now: Silent souvenirs: The 
fragrance of vanished summers: The Sultan of 
Singapore: The cholera epidemic in Ceylon: A 
railway accident near Benares: Bombay: Sudden 
death of Lady Ferguson: We leave for Malta: 
In quarantine at Suez: From Malta to Syracuse: 
A storm : Naples : Back to Paris : The end of the 
journey Pp. 241-255 



CHAPTER XIII 

The late Ward McAllister: "The Four Hun- 
dred": Restful Society: The old families: The 
Queens of Sheba: The Belmonts: Their house in 
Fifth Avenue: The two Mrs. Astors: Mrs. 
Pierre Lorillard: Her husband: Tuxedo Park: 
Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger: A great-niece of 
Washington Irving: "Sleepy Hollow": A royal 
exile: Years afterwards: A fete champetre: A 



18 CONTENTS 

French fancy-dress ball in 1828: The old noblesse: 
Mr. Montant and his ancestors: A gentleman of 
France: Furniture from the old Chateau: A cos- 
tume ball: Malibran as a guest: The old Bowling 
Green Theatre: Jenny Lind: My friendship with 
Madame Nordica: A success of perseverance: 
Talents and temperament : The kindest of women : 
The late General Grant: His judgment: "Gen- 
tlemen, we cross the Potomac to-night": Grant 
and Lee: A contrast: "Take back your sword": 
Robert Lee's request: A generous adversary: The 
son who stood upon his dignity: "To dine and 
sleep at Windsor" : The little table : What Queen 
Victoria said: Out-Heroding Herod: Old Mr. 
Germaine: His hobby: A taste for saving money: 
Three deaths: The callousness of Society: Ward 
McAllister's funeral : Five out of a hundred ! : 
The last music: Life's little ironies: Malicious 
Fate: "Man and his littleness perish, erased like 
an error and cancelled" Pp. 256-270 



CHAPTER XIV 

Henry M. Flagler: The maker of Florida: His 
early struggles: His forceful character: Henry B. 
Plant: An unsuccessful rival: An interesting Sun- 



CONTENTS 19 

day: Three great men: My mission in the Bow- 
ery: The stokers' strike: On board the Kaiser 
Wilhelm II: I receive a note: What it contained: 
The Bowery boys as stokers: Women who help 
humanity: Mrs. William Sloane and her sisters: 
Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish and her opinion of me as a 
speaker: The famous costume ball: Mrs. Bradley 
Martin's wish to give an impetus to trade: A 
storm of comment: The ball is denounced from 
the pulpit : Threatening letters : We are burlesqued 
on the stage: What Theodore Roosevelt said: A 
dream of loveliness: Versailles and New York: 
Wonderful jewels: Family heirlooms: A touch of 
barbarism: The altar of the Golden Calfc The 
road to disillusion: My brother decides to live in 
London: Lady Craven: Lord Uffington and his 
grandmothers: The disadvantages of the Embassy 
system: My tour with Mr. E. Clarence Jones: 
Apathetic citizens: Archbishop Ireland: A hostile 
reception at Atlanta: A Baptist deputation: Pre- 
historic cars: A cloud of petrol: "Is this a joy 
ride?": A dance at Louisville: The old Gait 
House: Southern belles: A curious custom: Was 
our tour successful?: My crusade against the idle 
rich: Selfish Society: "A traitor to my class": 
My appreciation of the American Press: The 
lighter side of life: The love of luxury: Unhappy 
marriages : The ideal union : The evils of Platonic 



20 CONTENTS 

friendship; Looking backward: Partings in our 
family : The graves of a household : The memory 
of the beloved dead: My wish Pp. 271-292 

Index Pp. 293-297 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Frederick Townsend Martin Frontispiece \^ 



FACING 
PAGE 



My Grandmother — Hannah Townsend .... 34 

My Father— Henry Hull Martin 50 "^ 

My Brother— Bradley Martin 70 >^ 

A House Party at Balmacaan 198 ^''^ 

Mr. William Gillett with Mrs. Bradley Martin and 

Count Kergorley 226 ^ 

Group: Mr. Frederick Townsend Martin, Lord 
Leigh, Mr. Bradley Martin, The Hon. Charles 
Harris 236 (/ 

Group: Mr. Hugh Warrender, The Countess of 
Craven, Mr. Franklin Otis, Mr. Frank Muri- 
etta. The Hon. Charles Harris, and Mr. Towns- 
end Martin 246 ^^ 



31 



THINGS I REMEMBER 



CHAPTER I 

My ancestors: The overcrowded Mayflower: 
The Townshends: Henry Townshend protects 
the Quakers: He is imprisoned: Life in the New 
World: My father: Henry Hull Martin: His 
early struggles: A devoted son: The story of a 
shawl: Courtship and marriage: A leading ques- 
tion: Brains versus dollars: My birth: Early im- 
pressions: My grandmother: Mrs. Townshend: 
The end of the passage: An enchanted room: 
The romance of history: A honeymoon trip: 
My grandmother's voyage up the Hudson: A 
romantic episode: The great chain: Rip Van 
Winkle land: Home at last: My grandmother's 
recollections of Old New York : A cultured circle : 
Terpsichore not Tango: How society amused 
itself : Roderick Mcintosh : "A hundred pipers an* 
a', an' a' ": My grandmother Martin: A Puritan 
of Puritans: Her methods: I resent her interfer- 
ence : My own territory : Nemesis at the window : 
A whipping 

My ancestors did not sail to America in that 

overcrowded vessel The Mayflower, for it was 

25 



26 THINGS I REMEMBER 

not until the year 1665, when London was 
swept by the plague, that three brothers, John, 
Henry and Richard Townshend left England 
to seek their fortunes in the New World. 
Their father had provided them with sufficient 
means to make their way in the young coun- 
try, and they were undaunted at the prospect 
of being weeks at sea in an old sailing ship 
driven hither and thither at the mercy of the 
winds and waters. 

The Townshends left behind them their 
beautiful home of Raynham, an estate which 
had been the property of their progenitors 
since the Conquest, when William of Nor- 
mandy gave it to De Haville, one of his cap- 
tains. 

The family served their sovereigns well, 
and Roger Townshend was knighted during 
the stirring times of the Armada. Horatio 
Townshend rendered such services to Charles 
H that he was raised to the Peerage in 1661 
under the title of Baron Townshend of Lynn 
Regis, and his dignities were further in- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 27 

creased In 1682 when he was made a Viscount. 

A voyage across the Atlantic does not ap- 
pear strange to us now-a-days when science has 
done so much to save time and trouble, but 
the Townshends must have been heartily tired 
of their slow, monotonous passage long before 
they reached America. The brothers first set- 
tled at Oyster Bay, then an important ren- 
dezvous for the British fleet, but later they 
dispersed. Henry went up the Hudson river 
and settled in Cornwall, Richard made for 
Pennsylvania, and John remained at Oyster 
Bay, where the house that he built still stands. 

Henry Townshend seems to have been a 
man of strong religious convictions, and he 
was greatly distressed at the persecution of 
the Quakers by the bigoted Puritans of those 
days. His sympathy with the oppressed sect 
showed itself in a practical manner, for he 
allowed the Quakers to hold their meetings 
at his house, an act of tolerance which greatly 
incensed Peter Stuyvesant, the Burgomaster 
of the town. He decided to make an example 



28 THINGS I REMEMBER 

of Henry Townshend, so he promptly had 
him arrested and imprisoned in the Fort at 
New Amsterdam, where he spent months of 
solitary confinement, cheered only by the daily 
visits of his little daughter, who was allowed 
to bring him his food. 

After his release Henry returned to Oyster 
Bay, where he lived unmolested to a good old 
age. He seems to have been a man of lovable 
personality, who had the courage of his con- 
victions, and whose high purpose bore out the 
old family motto, "Fidelity earned these hon- 
ours for our race." 

The Townshends apparently never regret- 
ted their severance from the Old Country; 
they prospered in the New World, handsome 
sons and fair daughters were born to them, 
and the pressing anxieties of life seem to have 
passed them by. 

My grandmother, Hannah Townshend, was 
born in 1785, and married her second cousin 
Isaiah Townshend. They settled in Albany, 
the capital of the state of New York, and their 



THINGS I REMEMBER 29 

daughter Anne was destined later to become 
the wife of my father, Henry Hull Martin. 

It is difficult to realize adequately the dif- 
ference between the families of Townshend 
and Martin. The Townshends represented 
the good type of the aristocratic settlers in 
America, who had preserved the culture and 
refinement of the Court of St. James's, whilst 
the Martins embodied the splendid spirit of 
those early pioneers who endured untold hard- 
ships with a dogged determination to "win 
through." 

Henry Hull Martin was born at Avon 
Genesia in 1809. His father died when a 
comparatively young man, leaving just enough 
money to educate his son, and support his 
widow and three daughters, who found it 
somewhat of a struggle to live, but as soon 
as Henry Martin graduated at Union College 
he gave the little money he had to his mother 
and started out to support himself. 

His life at college was one of absolute self- 
denial ; his chief aim was to avoid embarrass- 



30 THINGS I REMEMBER 

ing his mother in any way, and I am sure that 
he must have suffered many things in silence. 
He was a very tall man, and his clothes had 
always to be made for him, so when his over- 
coat was worn out, and a new one meant a 
call on the slender home finances, Henry 
would wrap himself up in a shawl and un- 
concernedly brave the elements and the storm 
of chaff which invariably assailed him when 
he went to his classes. 

"Well, Martin," remarked the President of 
Union College one day when he came face to 
face in the street with the thin shawl envel- 
oped figure. "Surely you don't realize what 
is wrapped up in your mantle." 

I never think of this story without marvel- 
ling at my father's moral courage, and I think 
few collegians now-a-days would follow his 
example, as it seems to be the usual thing for 
young men to emulate women's love of dress, 
and to incur endless tailors' bills with a total 
disregard of when and how they are to be 
paid. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 31 

After leaving Union College, Henry Mar- 
tin became private secretary to Troup, who 
w^as Governor of the State of New York, and 
whilst residing at Albany he met Anne Town- 
send, with whom he fell in love at first sight. 
Without more ado, the young man went at 
once to Isaiah Townsend and demanded his 
daughter in marriage. 

The Magnate of Albany listened to the 
presumptuous suitor in silent amazement, but 
at last he found words. "Young man," he 
asked coldly, "how do you propose to support 
my daughter?" 

"With the brains which God has given me," 
answered the lover; and, when he saw the look 
of incredulous disdain on the face of Isaiah 
Townsend, he added warmly, "Yes, sir, with 
my brains I'll undertake to support your 
daughter and to make her happy." 

I do not know whether old Mr. Townsend 
was more impressed by Henry Martin's au- 
dacity, or by his personality, but in the end 
he gave his consent to the marriage, and my 



32 THINGS I REMEMBER 

parents lived close to the Townsend house in 
Albany, where my father started as a lawyer 
and where he continued to practise until 1854, 
when he became a banker. 

I was my parents' sixth child, and I was 
born on December 6, 1849. It was a marvel 
that I came into the world alive, as for some 
weeks before my arrival my mother had been 
dangerously ill with inflammatory rheuma- 
tism, and a fatal termination was regarded as 
inevitable. The anxiety of the family was 
terrible, and their fears increased hourly on 
the wintry night when I was born. But even 
the longest period of anxiety must come to an 
end, and at last my father entered the sitting- 
room, pale but happy, and announced, "Anne 
is safe, and she has another son." 

My happiest recollections centre round my 
childhood. We were a most united family; 
our early affection has endured the test of 
time, and when my sister Anna (who became 
Mrs. Rochester) was dying, her last words, 
which are too sacred to repeat, made me real- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 33 

ize the meaning of those bonds. Alice, my 
senior by two years, was my inseparable com- 
panion and the sweetest tomboy imaginable; 
little Harriett played with us for six years, and 
then Death called her away. My brothers 
were dear boys ; there was Henry and Bradley, 
whose loss is still so fresh that I hardly dare to 
realize it, and Howard, who was later to ac- 
company me on my travels abroad. 

The most impressive figure of those early 
days was my grandmother Townsend. She 
was a woman of extraordinary personality, and 
she reigned as a queen over society in Albany, 
where her circle consisted of people who were 
distinguished for their wit and breeding. 
Grandmother ruled without effort. She fas- 
cinated me even as a tiny child, until I became 
her willing and adoring slave, and the great 
house in Washington Avenue, where she lived, 
was to me a palace of enchantment. A subtle 
sympathy drew us together, and I believe she 
was quite innocently proud of being able to 
attract me, and to see how eagerly I left my 



34 THINGS I REMEMBER 

play when I was allowed to spend an hour 
with her. 

My most vivid recollection of my grand- 
mother is when I used to creep down the 
passage which led to the library. I can see 
her yet, sitting in her great high-backed chair 
by the window with the light falling on her 
sweet face with its delicate features and won- 
derful eyes, which always seemed to speak. 
Mrs. Townsend was not one of the modern 
grandmothers ; her fine lace cap was not to her 
an admission of age of which shewas ashamed ; 
indeed I thought her stiff, pretty curls looked 
enchanting under it, and her silk gown, with 
its lace collar and cuffs, was always dignified 
and becoming. Negligees were unknown in 
her day, and I doubt if she would have given 
a tea-gown a moment's consideration. 

I pushed the door open very quietly. "Do 
I disturb you, grandmother," I would ask, and 
I was always reassured by her charming smile 
and the delightful "Come in, Frederick." 
Then I advanced to the seat by the window to 




My grandmother — Hannah Townsend 



THINGS I REMEMBER 35 

be kissed and welcomed, and afterwards, seated 
by her side, I would beg her to tell me a story. 
It was very peaceful in that quiet library, 
with its old-fashioned furniture, which Mrs. 
Townsend had inherited from her mother, and 
which had come all the way from England 
— as did even the bricks with which the house 
was built, for in those days bricks were not 
made in America. It was the atmosphere of 
refinement which appealed to me. I loved the 
romance which seemed to cling to my grand- 
mother, and she, impressionable, a dreamer of 
beautiful thoughts, insensibly coloured my 
mind with her imaginings. I owe to her any 
taste I have for the beautiful, my appreciation 
of the charm of bygone days, and my power to 
conjure up scenes of the past, and to people 
them with those who played their parts in his- 
tory or romance. Thus the dead, the great, 
the beautiful, the gifted and the unfortunate 
are to me living people, and this extraordinary 
power of visualizing dates back to those happy 
hours in Washington Avenue. 



36 THINGS I REMEMBER 

The story which seemed to give my grand- 
mother the greatest pleasure to relate was the 
account of her honeymoon trip up the Hudson 
river to Albany. 

After the wedding the bride and bride- 
groom with the relatives and guests went down 
to the Battery in all the splendour of a golden 
afternoon. It was early summer, a slight 
breeze ruffled the waters of the Hudson, and 
the sloop which had been chartered for the 
journey rocked gently at the quay. It must 
have been a picturesque sight, this wedding 
party in Old New York. I can imagine the 
bevyof pretty girls in their high-waisted cling- 
ing muslin gowns, the young bride in her long 
white satin cloak and plumed hat, the men in 
their blue or drab coats with brass buttons, 
and every one deciding that this voyage up 
the Hudson was vastly original and diverting. 

There were only some servants and the crew 
on board, for the household possessions had 
been previously dispatched, and whilst the 
bride's luggage was being stowed away she 



THINGS I REMEMBER 37 

bade farewell to her friends, and clung tear- 
fully to her mother, for in those times "sensi- 
bility" was in fashion and hearts were a little 
less blase than they are to-day. Then Mrs. 
Townsend made her way down the worn, grey 
steps (I think her thin satin slippers must have 
been sadly stained with the ooze as she went 
on board, followed by her husband). The 
sloop cast off, the sails filled, and the boat drew 
away, amidst waving farewells and many 
wafted kisses from the bride, until it disap- 
peared in a golden haze, symbolical, as per- 
haps some romantic soul may have declared, 
of a golden future for the newly married pair. 
Then began the memorable voyage, and how 
often have I journeyed in imagination with 
my grandmother up the beautiful Hudson 
river, where, I think, the scenery outrivals the 
Rhine. Day by day the boat glided along on 
its voyage of 150 miles. The magnificent 
panorama of the Palisades gave place to the 
calm Tappan-Zee, and the wondering young 
people admired the Highlands and the Nar- 



38 THINGS I REMEMBER 

rows, where dark, deep gorges lie beneath 
lofty hills. Sometimes my grandparents 
landed and took horses to some place of in- 
terest. Then came a long day of exploring 
the thickly wooded country, and in the silent 
forests they would sometimes chance on the 
remains of an Indian camp fire; at dusk they 
rode through the scented night air back to the 
waiting sloop, and continued their voyage. 

Grandmother described how they saw the 
site of Tarry Town, immortalized as Sleepy 
Hollow by Washington Irving, and one day 
Isaiah Townsend excitedly showed his wife 
where the great chain was stretched across the 
Hudson to prevent the English from coming 
up the river to besiege the small towns on its 
banks. "This chain," said my grandfather 
with unconcealed pride, "was forged by my 
father Henry Townsend in 1778 at the Stir- 
ling Iron Works, which he owned, and the 
links were carried to West Point by New 
England teamsters. The chain v/as the indi- 
rect means of discovering a traitor, for Bene- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 39 

diet Arnold wrote to the British authorities 
and told them he had weakened one of the 
links to permit the passage of the English 
men-of-war, but the letter was intercepted 
and Arnold's career as an American general 
was ended. 

At last the sloop reached the Catskill Moun- 
tains, the Rip Van Winkle country, and the 
end of the journey was at hand. Like Rip 
Van Winkle, the young couple awoke from an 
enchanted dream, and they began to realize 
that the future with its responsibilities lay be- 
fore them in their new home at Albany. 

"And was New York nicer than Albany?" 
I always asked, with the design of hearing 
some more stories. This question invariably 
"drew" my grandmother, who would straight- 
way describe the picturesque New York of the 
quaint gables and market-places, and she 
would tell me about the peaceful farms ten- 
anted by the descendants of the old Colonial 
families, gone, alas for ever, lost in the rush 
of life. 



40 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I listened enraptured to her recollections 
of the days when her mother, Mrs. Solomon 
Townsend, gave great receptions, to which all 
the distinguished people came. She told me 
how the tone of society was influenced by the 
French and English Courts, and how the at- 
mosphere was almost ultra-refined. I heard 
how these descendants of great families treas- 
ured the souvenirs of the past, how traditions 
were respected, and how both men and women 
were trained from their earliest childhood to 
cultivate charm of manner and to display all 
the punctilious ceremonial of the Mother 
Country. 

Dances in those days were very stately per- 
formances, and the minuets were a delight to 
watch, for the dancers walked through the fig- 
ures with wonderful grace, and the younger 
generation were not, as now, allowed to mon- 
opolize the floor, and to romp riotously in a 
tangle of Bunny Hugs and Tangos. Some of 
the elder people would play cards during the 
evening, while others talked politics, and those 



THINGS I REMEMBER 41 

who liked books discussed the latest poems and 
romances. 

The midday dinner was the principal repast 
of the day, and it was considered the correct 
thing to walk on the old Battery at sundown. 
This was the rendezvous where friends and 
acquaintances met to exchange courteous 
greetings, and to hear the latest gossip, and 
it is difficult to realize now, when the glories 
of State Street are departed, that the Battery 
was the centre of fashion in those early 
days. 

"And were the houses beautiful?" I would 
ask. 

That question always appealed to my grand- 
mother, and she described with extraordinary 
vividness the old Colonial houses as she re- 
membered them, the large, low-ceilinged 
rooms with their panelled walls, where old 
family portraits looked down on their de- 
scendants, the parquet floors which were so 
highly polished that they seemed like gigantic 
mirrors, and the cut-glass chandeliers and can- 



42 THINGS I REMEMBER 

delabra which shed a soft light upon many 
picturesque gatherings. 

'Tell me about the Revolution," I fre- 
quently demanded, for those stirring times 
always fired my imagination, but grandmother 
did not care to do so. I know now that her 
recollections of the great days were saddened 
ones, as the half of our family who were 
Tories remained faithful to King George, but 
the progressive and Americanized Townsends 
threw in their lot with the Revolutionary Par- 
ty, and even dropped the "h" in their surname 
as a protest against monarchy and aristocracy. 

One of the stories which appealed to me 
very much concerned the doings of a Scots- 
man, Roderick Mcintosh of Georgia, who had 
escaped to America after the rising of 1745. 

This remarkable man was clan-mad, if I 
may coin a description, and when he arrived 
in America he brought with him every possi- 
ble vestige of his Scottish state. Whenever 
Roderick walked abroad a piper invariably 
preceded him, and the strains of the bagpipes 



THINGS I REMEMBER 43 

heralded their approach and afforded endless 
entertainment to young and old alike. He 
was wont to observe that if he could ship 
sufficient plaids, bonnets and pipers from the 
Highlands, he would turn even the old Dutch 
residents into Scotsmen, as he felt sure they 
were enviously impressed by his garb and dig- 
nity. When he visited New York his piper 
played outside the house he chanced to be 
honouring with his presence, for the old fa- 
miliar music fired Roderick's imagination in 
a way that enabled him to give force to his 
arguments, and made him feel that a Mcin- 
tosh could hold his own with the best of 
them. 

. And thus my romantic yearnings and love 
of the history of bygone days were fostered 
by the gracious Lady of the Large House, as 
I mentally designated her. I was always run- 
ning in to see her, and I was sure of a welcome. 
Grandmother understood me; she seemed 
quite to realize that little boys could not be 
perfection, and she never made me unhappy. 



44 THINGS I REMEMBER 

She was my liege lady, and I paid her the most 
sincere of all homage — the trusting devotion 
of a child. 

It is sad to relate that I had no such feelings 
for my grandmother Mrs. Martin, who re- 
pelled me as much as Mrs. Townsend attract- 
ed me. My father's mother was a complete 
contrast to the charming luxury-loving de- 
scendant of the Townsends. She was a Puri- 
tan of Puritans, with all the stern, unbending 
characteristics of the original New England 
stock that had been made strong by the strug- 
gle for existence. It had been their lot to 
battle with the elements, to wrest life from 
the land, to face danger alike from man and 
beast, and often to die as unsung heroes who 
endured without complaint to the very end. I 
now realize the value of the type, but in those 
days I failed to appreciate it, and my grand- 
mother Martin was to me the Terror that 
walked by day and by night. 

"Always respect your grandmother," said 
my father to me, and I honestly tried to do so, 




My father 
Henry Hull Martin 
Born 1809— Died 1886 



-i 



i 



iTHINGS I REMEMBER 45 

but my dreams fled at her approach and a 
sullen defiance seized me. "Why can't she be 
friends with me like my other grandmother?" 
I asked myself, and one day when she tried to 
interfere with some childish pursuit, my 
smouldering anger blazed forth. 

"The nursery is my land — not yours!" I an- 
nounced. "You just mind your own business, 
grandmother," and the gage of battle thus 
thrown, I waited ia expectation to see what 
my adversary would do. She did not reply, 
but one glance at her face was enough. She 
went out of the room. What was Grand- 
mother Martin contemplating? Some min- 
utes elapsed, and curiosity overcoming my 
fear, I crept down to reconnoitre. Through 
the half-open door I saw her standing by the 
window, and in a flash I realized that her in- 
tention was to wait, like an avenging Nemesis, 
for my father to return from the bank! I 
scurried upstairs, and I, too, waited, hoping 
against hope that she would relent 

At last I heard my father come in, and five 



46 THINGS I REMEMBER 

minutes afterwards the cry of "Frederick" 
broke the silence. I crouched in a corner, the 
call was repeated, but feeling that delay was 
dangerous, I went to meet my fate and was 
thoroughly well whipped. "Now you'll never 
be rude to your grandmother again!" and one 
resounding smack finished the punishment. 
My mother wept silently, but I was consumed 
with rage. I never forgave Grandmother 
Martin, but if she felt my aversion she never 
appeared to notice it; she pursued her accus- 
tomed way, dignified and reserved, and I think 
her only weak spot was the delight she experi- 
enced in making other people share her opin- 
ion of her importance. 

Poor Mrs. Martin, how she would have 
resented the spirit of change which has swept 
over her country, and how unadaptable she 
would have shown herself! I can imagine 
Mrs. Townsend accepting the Idea of an aero- 
plane with serene urbanity, and quite luxuri- 
ating in an automobile. The opinions of Mrs. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 47 

Martin on these subjects would have been 
forcible, illuminating and not uninteresting, 
but I am sure that present-day progress would 
not have found a friend in her. 



CHAPTER II 

My father: His theories: "Lead us not into 
temptation": My mother, her gentle influence: 
Pre-natal conditions: Her sympathy: "Just a 
mother with a mother's heart": Living books: 
My accident: A long convalescence: My hero: 
Uncle Frederick and the butler's son: An expedi- 
tion to California: The Argonauts: El Dorado: 
Misfortune dogs my uncle's footsteps: The Old 
Man of the Sea: The Nugget: A dreamer of 
dreams: New York: I visit the Battery: "They 
that go down to the sea in ships": I go to Union 
College: Life in Albany: The old Schuyler Man- 
sion: Family mirth-makers: A funeral at Middle- 
town: A recipe to stop nose-bleeding: A chapter 
of accidents: My uncle's anger: From bad to 
worse: After the funeral: My uncle's ultimatum: 
Franklin Townsend: His violin: The poodle that 
knew the time: The responsibilities of wealth: 
A man of means : Mr. Townsend and the heiress : 
How General Howard James drilled his servants: 
A troop of Amazons: The simple life: A "good 
atmosphere" : My first play : Death of my mother : 
"It is deep happiness to die, yet live in love's dear 
memory" 

48 



THINGS I REMEMBER 49 

I FEEL that I pay the highest tribute to my 
father's memory when I describe him as one 
of the best types of the best American. He 
was, indeed, an exceptional man, high-prin- 
cipled and strict almost to severity, but justice 
itself in everything that he did. 

My father's favourite saying was, "When a 
man has made up his mind to go to the wall 
he'll go." His mother's intolerance found no 
echo in his own life; he was infinitely under- 
standing, and perhaps his wife's gentle in- 
fluence developed the softer side of his 
nature. 

"Ah," he would often remark, "the most 
powerful part of the Lord's Prayer is the ap- 
peal 'Lead us not into temptation' — it's the 
most difficult foe to withstand." I used to 
wonder why he spoke so strongly; perhaps he 
had known and resisted temptation himself. 
He adored his children, but he made no fa- 
vourites ; his ambition was to see us grow up 
worthy members of society, and he never lost 
an opportunity of instilling into us his ideas 



50 THINGS I REMEMBER 

of the importance of work and one's duty to- 
wards others in every-day life. 

My mother and he were ideally happy, and 
well had he kept his promise to her father to 
support and shelter her. To me my mother is 
a sacred memory which grows sweeter day by 
day. I gave her my whole-hearted love, and 
the influence of her beautiful character is ever 
present with me. 

I often wonder whether the pre-natal con- 
ditions of my birth accounted for the extreme 
tenderness which my mother and I had for 
each other? During her long illness, before 
my birth, she must have often trembled lest 
her child should bear the impress of her own 
sufferings, and I think her poignant sense of 
sympathy must have been transmitted to 
me, for I am always drawn to those who 
suffer. 

Her religion was beautiful in its simple 
faith, and she was quite unostentatious in its 
performance. She had been brought up as a 
Presbyterian, and every Friday she slipped 



THINGS I REMEMBER 51 

quietly away to her Prayer Meeting, no matter 
what social duties claimed her. She never 
neglected to hear me say my prayers, and I 
picture her now as she came into my little 
room and knelt by me heedless of her beautiful 
evening gown and sparkling jewels. Just a 
mother with a mother's heart, and small won- 
der that I used to think her an angel when 
she sang to me. The beloved face has been 
hidden for many a year, and the sweet voice 
is still, but "O I'amour d'une mere! amour que 
nul n'oublie." 

I always regarded my mother and my grand- 
mother in the light of living books, for I found 
them both inexhaustible in interest, and noth- 
ing delighted me more than to hear about 
places and people. When I was a small boy 
of seven I met with an accident, which obliged 
me to remain six months on my back, but the 
long hours of illness were lightened by my 
mother's devotion. She read to me, and to- 
gether we discussed the characters in the books 
until they seemed like real people; my favour- 



52 THINGS I REMEMBER 

ite was David Copperfield, and I remember 
how much I wanted to see Dover as described 
by Dickens. 

My ideal hero did not, however, exist in 
fiction, but, miracle of miracles, he was a 
relation, my mother's youngest brother, my 
namesake, and I never wearied of listening to 
his adventures. 

In 1849, whea gold was first discovered in 
California, Frederick Townsend begged my 
grandmother to allow him to set out to seek 
his fortune with the Argonauts, as the settlers 
in California were then called. 

A great deal of persuasion was required, but 
at last grandmother gave her consent on con- 
dition that my uncle was accompanied by the 
butler's son, who would, she fondly imagined, 
protect him from all harm. 

The expedition was most fully equipped 
with the possible requirements of a gold- 
seeker, and my uncle started on his journey to 
El Dorado. But misfortune dogged his foot- 
steps at every turn. The butler's son had to 



THINGS I REMEMBER 53 

be protected instead of playing the part of a 
protector; he was (barring his good qualities) 
worse than useless. He couldn't swim, and 
so my uncle had to carry him pick-a-back 
when they crossed rivers and fords, in fact he 
became Old Man of the Sea, and my uncle 
the reluctant Sindbad. Everything went amiss, 
and for a long time there was no news of the 
adventurous Frederick. His family mourned 
him as dead, but one day he re-appeared (ac- 
companied, of course, by the butler's son) , and 
told a tale of adventure which rivalled that 
of the immortal Munchausen. He had been 
made captive by Indians, a tornado had car- 
ried away his tent like a leaf before the wind, 
but he had succeeded in finding gold, which 
after all was the one and only object of his 
journey. 

The gold which my uncle dug up did not 
permit him to have an option on New York 
City, and eventually it found a home in my 
mother's jewel case. How well I remember 
the famous nugget, which I was allowed to 



54 THINGS I REMEMBER 

handle sometimes as a very great favour. "Do 
show me the gold Uncle Fred brought home," 
was my oft-repeated request, and I can live 
again the delightful moment when the jewel- 
case was unlocked, and I saw the nugget lying 
on its velvet bed. I can even smell the faint 
odour which is always associated with these 
old treasure-boxes, and which one never smells 
elsewhere. 

I used to hold the nugget very tightly, close 
to my eyes, and then imagine I was out camp- 
ing with Uncle Fred. As the gold warmed in 
my excited hand, I felt how much it repre- 
sented — the long marches and the measureless 
wastes which had to be traversed to find it. 
I pictured the blinding sandstorms; I felt the 
loneliness of Nature in secret places, and in 
imagination I saw the stars which alwaysj 
seemed to me like eyes watching the world. 
And thus, cheered by golden books, I passed 
my period of convalescence. Then I was able 
to take delightful drives with my mother, and 
I shall never forget those radiant summer 



THINGS I REMEMBER 55 

days. I wonder why fields never seem so 
green, or why the skies never seem so blue 
when we have passed the milestones of youth. 

I was eight years old when I paid my first 
visit to New York. I went by boat with my 
father, and I remember how excited I felt 
on that old side-wheeler of a steamer, for was 
I not retracing grandmother's wonderful voy- 
age? We arrived in New York just in time for 
dinner, and I only felt homesick when I was 
in bed. I could not sleep, for every quarter 
of an hour I heard the church clock strike, but 
at last the sound so got on my nerves that I fell 
asleep worn out with loneliness and fatigue. 

This impression of a certain sound being 
always associated with loneliness has never 
faded, and I think my belief in the "early 
recollection" has a parallel case in Herbert 
Spencer's experiences. When he was a child 
his nurse left him in the house on the evening 
of the week when the bells of All Saints', 
Derby, were rung. The little boy always 
remembered the bells ringing during the time 



56 THINGS I REMEMBER 

he spent alone, and in later life he wrote, "All 
through the earlier part of my life, and even 
in adult years I never heard bells without a 
feeling of sadness coming over me!" 

Early next morning I was sent off, accom- 
panied by my cousin's office boy, to see the 
sights of New York, and the first place I made 
for was the old Battery. I shall never forget 
my emotion when I found myself on the sea 
wall, and felt the salt breeze from the Bay kiss 
my cheeks in greeting. "Here is the gate of 
the world," I thought, as I watched the great 
ships sail past. Whither were they bound? 
What wonderful countries would they visit? 
And, as I watched them, an overmastering 
desire to travel seized me. I longed to be on 
the white decks, facing the unknown; I, too, 
wanted to see the World. Then I reflected 
sorrowfully that I was only eight years old, 
and I might have a very long time to wait. 
Still, something seemed to tell me that my 
hopes would be realized, and indeed they 
have, for since I stood as a little boy on the 



THINGS I REMEMBER 57 

old Battery and dreamt my dreams, I have 
travelled far and wide in many lands. 

The office boy must have been tired of wait- 
ing on the Battery, but I left it with reluc- 
tance, and we walked home without speaking, 
for I was, in thought, well out to sea in a phan- 
tom ship of my own. The sight of Trinity 
Church roused me from my meditations, and 
I marvelled at its spire, which I thought must 
surely reach to heaven. Alas! it is now swal- 
lowed up in a maze of modern buildings, 
which have invaded the precincts of the old 
church and robbed it for ever of its pictur- 
esque charm. 

We stayed a week in New York, and I was 
not sorry to return, for I rather resented being 
treated by my cousins as a little boy from the 
country, and I was all impatience to tell my 
mother and my grandmother about my won- 
derful visit. 

My first experience of school life was at the 
Albany Academy, which has just celebrated 
its centenary, and which is one of the few old 



58 THINGS I REMEMBER 

landmarks of my birthplace. At the age of 
fourteen my father decided that I must be 
partly emancipated from home influence, so I 
was sent to Union College, where my relative, 
Isaac Jackson, was one of the best known and 
respected Professors. He possessed a most 
beautiful garden, which was open to the stu- 
dents, and where I spent many delightful 
hours seated from view up one of the great 
trees. Those days are amongst my happiest 
recollections. I returned to Albany every 
Saturday, to spend a quiet Sunday with my 
people, and I was sure that my mother would 
always show her invariable sympathy and in- 
terest in all my doings. What a wonderful 
woman she was, and how much I owe to her! 
Life in Albany went on very smoothly, and 
I think it was a much prettier town in those 
days. I remember the old Schuyler Mansion, 
where a tomahawk was firmly imbedded over 
the dining-room door. This was a striking 
souvenir of the hatred shown to the whites by 
the Indians in the early Colonial days, and 



THINGS I REMEMBER 59 

the story was that it had been flung by an 
Indian through the open window when the 
family were seated at table, but luckily it 
missed its mark. 

Some of my relatives were quite "charac- 
ters," but naturally I never let them see that 
I appreciated them from a humorous point of 
view, although I suppose certain members of 
a family are bound to realize that they are 
regarded by the others as unconscious mirth- 
makers. 

When I was about twelve years old I was 
taken by my Uncle Frederick Townsend to a 
family funeral at Middletown, Connecticut. 

We arrived at the old country town at dusk, 
and drove immediately to the house of mourn- 
ing, where we were welcomed tearfully by our 
relations. Strange to say. Uncle Frederick 
had never told me that my great-aunt was 
blind, and as she bent down to kiss me her 
spectacles caught the bridge of my nose with 
such alarming force that it started to pour 



60 THINGS I REMEMBER 

with blood. Every one was distressed, and I 
was hurried out into the nearest room to try 
the cold water treatment, which was not very 
efficacious. 

Suddenly Uncle whispered in an awful 
voice, ''Frederick, you are in the room with 
the corpse." I started and peered fearfully 
in the semi-darkness, terrified lest I should 
discern the grim outline of the coffin. The 
shock proved far more effectual in stopping 
the bleeding than any iced water, and I was 
heartily glad to find myself outside the house 
again. 

Next day there was a chapter of accidents. 
We missed our way, and reached the house 
just as the undertaker was reading aloud the 
names of those who were to attend the funeral. 
Through some terrible mistake my uncle's 
name was omitted from the list and mine sub- 
stituted, and I was straightway taken to one 
of the waiting carriages without my uncle, 
who was in a furious rage at the contretemps, 



THINGS I REMEMBER 61 

indeed it required all the united tact of the 
family to induce him to go to the funeral in- 
stead of making for the railway station. 

Unfortunately, when we arrived at the 
church the same thing happened, and I was 
ushered into a front pew without Uncle 
Frederick. 

One of my aunts was sitting next to me, and 
suddenly I heard her whisper, "Fred, look 
look! Merciful heavens! your uncle is way 
back amongst the servants." I turned, and 
sure enough there he was, crowded up with 
the domestics, and his looks were deadly 
enough to kill all the mourners. I dreaded 
the explosion, which I knew was bound to 
come after this crowning humiliation, and 
when we returned to the house Uncle Fred- 
erick delivered his ultimatum to the family. 

I shall never forget the scene. There were 
the ladies tearfully conscious of their expen- 
sive crepes and bombazines, the men sleek in 
their broadcloth, and the family lawyer, all- 
important, as seems usual, on such occasions. 



62 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Uncle Frederick waited until the last strag- 
gler came into the room, and then said, in 
cold, cutting accents, "I have come all the 
way from Albany to pay my respects to the 
dead, but never did I imagine that I should 
be treated in such a manner. I now tell you, 
that no matter who dies in this family, I will 
not under any circumstances attend another 
funeral. This is all I have to say. . . . 
Come, Frederick," and so speaking he walked 
out of the room. 

My uncle hardly spoke on the homeward 
journey, and he never forgave the insult he 
had received, for he was a very punctilious 
person, who was always careful to conform 
to the convenances, and who permited no de- 
viations from the accepted rules of etiquette. 

His eldest brother, Franklin Townsend, 
was a rather eccentric widower who lived 
alone in Albany. In the days of his youth he 
had been an ardent violin player, but when he 
married he neglected his hobby, and only took 
it up again after his wife's death. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 63 

After his midday meal he would play over 
the melodies he loved as a bachelor, seated in 
his big arm-chair, but gradually as he fiddled 
the bow would move slower and slower, until 
at last it dropped from his hand and he slept. 

At four o'clock precisely, when the time- 
piece struck the hour, his little poodle jumped 
up and awakened his master with a stroke of 
its paw; the two would then go out for an 
afternoon stroll, and this took place every day 
until he died. 

Uncle Franklin was a charming old man, 
and he delighted to tell me tales of his boy- 
hood, and especially one story connected with 
what he termed "the responsibilities of 
wealth." 

When he was a boy his father, Isaiah Town- 
send, was interested in an old man named 
John Cameron, who used to earn his living 
by selling oysters. My grandfather felt sorry 
for Cameron, so he presented him with a 
horse and cart to replace the heavy barrow he 
had been in the habit of pushing through the 



64 THINGS I REMEMBER 

streets, and the gratitude and delight of the 
oyster-seller were unbounded. 

One day as Mr. Townsend was driving 
through Albany, his attention was arrested by 
the sight of a crowd, and he stopped to see 
what was the matter. It was summer-time and 
the oppressive heat had completely overcome 
Cameron's horse, which was lying in the mid- 
dle of the road whilst its master mopped its 
head with a cold water sponge. Suddenly 
Cameron looked up, and when he saw my 
grandfather he said in tones of deep self-pity, 
"Oh, sir! oh, Mr. Townsend, I never realized 
until I had this horse and cart what a re- 
sponsibility it is to be a man of means!" 

We were a very united family, and scandals 
were practically unknown, but I always en- 
joyed hearing about the matrimonial differ- 
ences of my cousin Dr. Townsend, which at 
one time threatened to upset the domestic 
peace. He had married money, and the lady, 
like most heiresses, was keenly alive to her own 
value, and somewhat inclined to insist upon 



THINGS I REMEMBER 65 

it My cousin rather resented her attitude, 
for he rightly considered that there should be 
no mine and thine in marriage, "Share and 
share alike" being his creed. Therefore when 
Mrs. Townsend objected to his giving orders, 
he openly rebelled, and one morning wit- 
nessed the tug-of-war between them. 

"My dear," he announced through the bath- 
room door, "I am going to try the new 
horse." 

"You'll do no such thing," retorted his wife. 

"But, my dear, I mean to." 

"You shall not, I tell you," answered the 
lady in the bath-room, "whose money bought 
the horse?" 

"Yours/' shouted Dr. Townsend, "and I 
suppose you will say next that your money 
bought me." 

His wife gave an angry shriek, and fell 
backwards into the bath, for she was sitting 
on the edge when she received the answer to 
her insulting remarks. Then there there was 
an alarming splash! 



66 THINGS I REMEMBER 

"Thank Heaven there's a door between 
us," observed her husband as he hurried 
away. 

The shock gave the lady a lesson, and she 
never afterwards thrust her wealth in her hus- 
band's teeth; indeed, they became a devoted 
couple, and if Mrs. Townsend had been asked 
whose money had bought the horses, she would 
doubtless have replied, "Dr. Townsend's, of 



course." 



I remember hearing a story that convulsed 
Albany during the Civil War, when General 
Howard James was getting troops to the 
front. He worked unremittingly, and one 
evening he dined with some men, much against 
his will, for he was dog tired, and only yielded 
after much persuasion from his friends. 

The General never was a heavy drinker, but 
the little wine he took on this occasion af- 
fected him in his fatigued condition, and he 
was quite overcome when he reached the house 
where he lived with his mother. Although 
the wine had somewhat mastered his senses, 



THINGS I REMEMBER 67 

the ruling passion of troop forming still dom- 
inated the General's mind, so he went up- 
stairs and aroused his mother by a thunder- 
ing knock at her bedroom door. When the 
terrified old lady feebly demanded what was 
the matter, her son informed her that she 
must get up and tell the household to muster 
for drill in the dining-room. 

As Mrs. James only employed women serv- 
ants, a troop of bewildered Amazons pres- 
ently appeared in various stages of deshabille, 
carrying pokers, broom handles and other 
domestic implements to obey the order. 

Of course their master's condition was quite 
apparent, but the devoted domestics grasped 
the situation, and headed by his old mother 
they were drilled up and down until the 
General dropped from sheer exhaustion, and 
was promptly carried ofif to bed. 

I sometimes look back on those simple days 
with regret, and I am sure that I must have 
derived some advantage from the "good" 
atmosphere of my home. The young man of 



68 THINGS I REMEMBER 

to-day would have been bored to tears with 
our domesticity, and the modern girl would 
not have given us a moment's consideration. 
Economy, not extravagance, was inculcated 
into us, and we were given very little pocket- 
money, in fact I remember as a small boy 
feeling quite rich when my brother Bradley 
occasionally gave me a penny! 

I never saw a play until I was fifteen, when 
I was thrilled with the sorrows of Lady Isabel 
in East Lynne. I hurried home to tell my 
mother all about it, but although she appeared 
to be quite interested, I could see she tacitly 
disapproved of the stage, and I resolved not 
to distress her by going again to the 
theatre. 

My mother died on March 4, 1866, and 
even after all these years I find it difficult to 
write about the infinite gap which her death 
made in our family. Her simple faith, her 
boundless sympathy and her beautiful life are 
things almost too sacred to mention, but I 



THINGS I REMEMBER 69 

am sure she was one of those sweet women 
who would have deemed — 

"It is deep happiness to die, 
Yet live in love's dear memory." 



CHAPTER III 

My brother's marriage: Miss Cornelia Sherman; 
I look out of the window: A pretty picture: 
Changes: From hotel to convent: Sharon Springs: 
I meet Ward McAllister: A serenade: I visit 
New York: Old landmarks: Mrs. Ronalds: Her 
famous costume ball: Music: The illuminated 
harp: The triumph of electricity: "Age cannot 
wither nor custom stale her infinite variety" : 
Life in Albany : Lord Palmerston and the beggar : 
I am elected President of the Young Men's Asso- 
ciation: A reception: No admittance for my 
father: My first speech: Mrs. Moulton sings at 
Albany: A favourite at the Tuileries: Charlotte 
Cushman: I recall her first triumph: The dead 
President's progress 

My brother Bradley married Miss Cornelia 
Sherman on January 26, 1869. He had made 
her acquaintance at the wedding of Elliot 
Sheppard, who was then acting as aide-de- 
camp to Governor Reuben Fenton. 

Miss Sherman was one of the bridesmaids, 

70 




My brother — Bradley Martin 



THINGS I REMEMBER 71 

and my brother fell in love at first sight with 
the charming girl. 

I remember shortly afterwards receiving a 
telegram from Bradley at West Point asking 
me to come at once to Cozen's Hotel where 
he was stopping, and the message concluded 
with the words, "I want you." I arrived at 
West Point in time for dinner, and Bradley, 
with the directness which always character- 
ized him, at once enlightened me as to the why 
and wherefore of my summons. He led me 
to the window of his sitting-room, "Look, 
Fred," said my brother, "do you see that girl 
with the lovely hair? Well, I love her, and 
I'm going to marry her." 

I looked as I was directed, and my gaze fell 
on a young girl who was seated with an older 
lady in the garden under our window. As I 
watched her she turned, and I saw a sweet 
face lit up with wonderful blue eyes. "I think 
she's just perfect," I said impulsively, "you 
couldn't have chosen any one nicer." Bradley 
seemed very pleased, and I was presently in- 



72 THINGS I REMEMBER 

troduced to Miss Sherman and her mother, 
who, luckily for my brother, had taken a great 
fancy to him. 

I always remember this first meeting at 
the pretty old hotel on the hill with the beau- 
tiful Hudson river winding like a ribbon far 
below, and to this day I never pass the place 
without the tinge of sadness with which cer- 
tain recollections are always associated. The 
hotel is now a convent; time has wrought 
many changes, and my dear brother and friend 
has gone for ever from those whom he loved 
and who loved him.. 

After my mother's death I remained alone 
with my father in Albany, for Bradley, and 
my sister, who had married the clever young 
lawyer Julian Tappin Davies, were then liv- 
ing in New York. I spent a few weeks with 
my brother and his wife at Sharon Springs, 
then a very fashionable resort, where I first 
made the acquaintance of Ward McAllister, 
the great social leader and the Beau Brummel 
of his day. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 73 

His father, Mathew Hall McAllister, was 
once a prominent officer in the Georgia 
Hussars, the crack regiment of the South. He 
possessed famous wine-cellars, entertained on 
a lavish scale, and at his dinners one met most 
of the wits and beauties of the day. His son 
had a positive flair for organizing parties; the 
picnics which he gave were looked upon as 
social events, for he possessed the faculty for 
bringing the right people together, and what 
is more, he never lost the charming and courtly 
manners of the South. Ward McAllister has 
been criticized by many, and occasionally his 
harmless vanities have been held up to ridi- 
cule, but, as one who knew and liked him, I 
can pay this tribute to his memory, that he 
was a man who always tried to say something 
good about people. 

He attached tremendous importance to the 
value of conversation; nothing, he declared, 
could ever equal the delight to be obtained 
from the society of people of wit and culture, 
and "Brains before Beauty, and Mind before 



74 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Money," was his favourite saying. At his 
dinner parties one never experienced the rest- 
lessness which often makes the hostess rush 
the meal through with no thought for the 
speed limit, and for what object? More often 
than not one's digestion and temper suffer 
solely in order to get to a music hall in time to 
see Society's latest craze in exotic dancers or 
to witness the actions of educated apes. 

I can always get a mental picture of Ward 
McAllister (who, by the way, was a handsome 
double of Napoleon III) as he sat back in 
his chair holding up his glass of Madeira, so 
that the light filtered through the wine and 
turned it into liquid gold. The old-fashioned 
Southern hosts were especially proud of their 
Madeira, and McAllister would tell us how 
many times the wine had crossed the ocean 
before it had been mellowed into perfection. 

Ward introduced me to some charming 
people at Sharon Springs, and it was there 
that I first fell in love. The young lady was 
my senior by several years, but that mattered 



THINGS I REMEMBER 75 

little to me, and being romantic and reckless, 
I determined to lay siege to her heart by a 
moonlight serenade. I couldn't sing myself, 
so I engaged a guitar-playing Spaniard to act 
as my substitute outside the lady's window, 
whilst I hid a few doors off to listen to the 
effect. 

It all seemed quite satisfactory to me, but a 
few days later at dinner I heard my hostess 
tease the object of my adoration about her 
unknown admirer. 

"It was a great joke," answered the recipient 
of my devotion. "I can't think what lovesick 
creature was fool enough to serenade me — I 
guess he thought he had hired some one to 
sing, but I can only say that he managed to 
get some one to howl, and I've no use for that 
kind of thing." 

I smiled, as in duty bound, but it was a 
smile sickly near to the vanishing point, and 
my mortification was complete when the lady 
bade me good-night with the following re- 
marks, "Well, Fred Martin, you've made a 



76 THINGS I REMEMBER 

stupid of yourself anyway. I knew all along 
it was your affair, and I hope you'll take the 
lesson to heart and get some common sense just 
as soon as you can grasp it." 

I had a delightful time at Sharon Springs, 
and, after my return, my father often allowed 
me to visit the Lawrence and the Townsend 
families, and then I began to hear and see 
something of the social life of New York. I 
remember seeing the Grinnell mansion at the 
corner of Fourteenth Street and Fifth Avenue, 
where Mrs. Grinnell queened it as a great lady 
of fashion, and where she entertained the late 
King Edward on his first visit to New York. 

Delmonico's afterwards occupied the site of 
the Grinnell house, and another quaint build- 
ing, since demolished, was the Goelet Mansion, 
surrounded by trees and lawns, where on sunny 
days one could see the peacocks proudly 
spreading their tails. It was a splendid place, 
one of the last relics of old New York, and I 
used to have many romantic fancies about it. 
I was told that its owners were immensely 



THINGS I REMEMBER 77 

rich; indeed, the grandfather of the present 
Duchess of Roxburghe used to boast that he 
lived on the income of his income. 

I often heard my relations speak of the 
fashionable receptions and dinners given by 
the Duers, the Crugers, the Minturns, the 
Rhinelanders, and a host of other names well 
known in the days before the Civil War, and 
my aunts affirmed that although the houses 
were much smaller than those which were 
beginning to spring up, what they lacked in 
space was more than compensated for by the 
select society one met there. 

The greatest sensation at that time was a 
fancy dress ball given by young Mrs. Peter 
Lorillard Ronalds at Mi-Careme just before 
the close of the war. In those days a costume 
ball was a tremendous affair, not as now, when 
the mania for dressing-up has seized Society 
to such an extent that even ordinary costumes 
touch on those worn at a masquerade. 

Mrs. Ronalds purposely sent out her invi- 
tations three months beforehand so that people 



78 THINGS I REMEMBER 

had a chance of getting their dresses from 
Paris, and the ball was given at the Louis 
Mansion where the Ronalds lived. 

The hostess personated "Music" and wore 
a wonderful white satin gown embroidered 
with bars of music from Verdi's "Ballo in 
Maschera." Her crown, specially made in 
Paris, was formed of musical notes arranged 
round a harp illuminated with the tiniest gas 
jets, which were supplied from a holder hid- 
den in her hair. This made a great impression ; 
the harp glowed and sparkled all the time that 
Mrs. Ronalds received her guests, and she only 
removed the meter when dancing began. 

Mrs. Ronalds wore a similar gown at the 
costume ball given by the late Duchess of 
Devonshire at Devonshire House, but science 
had made great strides since the sixties, and 
gas was no longer necessary for lighting pur- 
poses. On this occasion the harp of music 
shone from eleven in the evening until half- 
past four on the following morning, and the 
meter had given place to a convenient little 



THINGS I REMEMBER 79 

battery which did not interfere with dancing 
in the least. 

I hope I shall not be considered ungallant 
in laying stress upon the flight of time where 
a lady and her dress are concerned. Some 
women could not be subjected to such an 
ordeal, but Mrs. Ronalds is one of those rare 
people who keep off old age by their mental 
gifts, which enable them to understand the art 
of living and to make life a joy to themselves 
and those around them. 

Mrs. Ronalds possesses a remarkable so- 
prano voice, and during the war she sang at 
Mr. Leonard Jerome's private theatre in aid 
of the wounded soldiers. On this occasion she 
enacted the role of prima donna in four 
operas, and electrified the audience by her 
fine singing and dramatic acting; indeed such 
was the renown of her voice that in Paris she 
was known as the "Patti des Salons." 

No entertainment in those days was con- 
sidered complete unless the two Miss Irvins 
were present. One afterwards married James 



80 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Burden, and the other became the wife of 
George Griswold Gray. Both ladies, like 
Mrs. Ronalds, have defied Time, for they re- 
tain all the grace of manner and the fascina- 
tion which attracted people to them years ago. 

It is no wonder that knowing so many 
prominent people made me a person of in- 
creased importance when I returned to Al- 
bany, and my relations used to look forward 
to hearing all about my doings in New York. 
Each time I came back I seemed to find the 
quiet little town smaller and smaller, and I 
longed to travel and to meet people with 
whom I was more in sympathy. My father 
was certainly a delightful companion; we 
were devoted to each other, and he took the 
greatest interest in all that interested me. He 
was a most sociably inclined man, but unfor- 
tunately his digestion prevented him from en- 
joying his food. 

I remember once saying to him as he was 
going out, "Well, father, I hope you'll have 
a good dinner." 



THINGS I REMEMBER 81 

"My dear Fred," he replied, "I always feel 
like Lord Palmerston when I dine out." 

"How did he feel?" I asked. 

"It was this way," answered my father. "I 
must first mention that Lord Palmerston's di- 
gestion and mine must have been wonderfully 
alike. One night he was accosted by a beggar 
just as he was entering a house where he was 
going to dine. "Give me a sixpence, my lord, 
I'm starving," cried the man. Palmerston 
handed him the coin and remarked as he did 
so, "Why, I'd give a sovereign to suffer from 
your complaint." 

My father had a keen sense of humour, and 
I remember an amusing occurrence after I 
was elected President of the Young Men's As- 
sociation at Albany, when I enjoyed the proud 
distinction of being the youngest President 
who had yet held the chair. My election took 
place on a day when my father was away in 
New York, and I was so elated at my success 
that I straightway invited my acquaintances 
to come to a reception on the morrow. When 



82 THINGS I REMEMBER 

the great day arrived I was astonished to find 
that my friends had collected enough money 
to pay for a band, and were marching to our 
house heralded by strains of martial music. 

The band installed itself in the hall, and 
soon the house was packed to straining point. 
Guests streamed through the reception-rooms; 
there was an ever-moving crowd coming and 
going; the band played its loudest, and when 
the excitement was at its height my father 
returned from New York. 

At the sight of the concourse he doubtless 
felt some natural astonishment, and for some 
time he was unable to enter his own house. 
He waited patiently outside on the steps, 
nearly deafened with the music and the inces- 
sant buzz of conversation around him, but 
at last, by dint of pushing and squeezing, he 
managed to reach the door. There a friend 
recognized him and remarked, "Mr. Martin, 
you'll have to fight your way in to congratulate 
your son." My father smiled, and as he was 
fond of telling a story, he said, "This crush 



THINGS I REMEMBER 83 

reminds me of an old acquaintance who was 
told as a compliment that one of his friends 
was unable to attend the funeral of his wife 
owing to the impossibility of getting into the 
house by reason of the crowd. The widower 
turned and remarked drily, 'I would like you 
to understand that I did not build my house 
for funerals.' " "Neither," added my father, 
"did I build my house for processions and 
brass bands." 

He was, nevertheless, well pleased, espe- 
cially as I had been chosen to fill a respon- 
sible position which had been hitherto held 
by older men. As President of the Young 
Men's Association I gained my first experi- 
ence of public speaking, and one night 
I was called upon to introduce Herr Karl 
Schurz, the German philosopher, to an audi- 
ence of public speaking, and one night 
to hear him lecture. 

I shall never forget my feelings as I faced 
the assembly, which appeared like a sea of 
expectant faces. I could not recognize any 



84 THINGS I REMEMBER 

one I knew until suddenly I caught sight of 
my father standing in a far-off corner, where 
he towered above every one beside him. Our 
eyes met, and a magnetic current seemed to 
pass between us. I quite realized his anxiety 
that I should acquit myself well, and do credit 
to the family, and then with an effort I com- 
menced to speak. 

Strange to say I lost my nervousness, for I 
felt that I was simply talking to my father, 
and to him alone. My speech was well re- 
ceived, and, as we walked home, my father 
spoke to me in terms of encouragement. 
"Fred," said he, "there is one thing certain 
in life — remember that each success should 
make you more anxious to have another. It 
is far easier to slip back than to progress, so 
bear this in mind whenever you feel inclined 
to sit still and do nothing." 

I remember an interesting episode in the 
history of my Presidency when Mrs. Moulton 
gave a concert in connection with our Associa- 
tion. She was an American lady who had 



THINGS I REMEMBER 85 

been a great power in the American colony 
in Paris, and who had been honoured with 
the friendship of Napoleon III and the 
Empress Eugenie. 

In those days Mrs. Moulton used to de- 
light the habitues of the Tuileries with her 
wonderful singing, but after her husband's 
death she found that her income was greatly 
reduced, and her friends persuaded her to 
take up singing as a profession. Mrs. Moul- 
ton, therefore, returned to America and com- 
menced a tour, her first appearance being at 
the Albany Association. 

The house was packed, and people came 
from all parts of the surrounding country to 
hear her sing. I can well remember how 
striking Mrs. Moulton looked, and, as I led 
her to the stage, I noticed that she wore a 
beautiful emerald bracelet. "How lovely!" 
I exclaimed. "Yes, isn't it," she replied, "the 
Emperor gave it to me when I last sang at the 
Tuileries. Do you know," she continued, 
looking at me quizzically, "I can hardly be- 



86 THINGS I REMEMBER 

lieve that a mere boy like you can possibly 
be the President of this Association." 

I was rather nettled, for a young man's 
vanity is proverbial, but I answered quickly, 
"Then, dear madam, let me forget my youth 
and help me to make this concert a huge suc- 
cess." I think this request must have appealed 
to Mrs. Moulton, for she sang divinely, and 
the entertainment afforded considerable kudos 
for all concerned. 

A few months afterwards Mrs. Moulton 
married the Danish Minister, M. Hagerman, 
who now represents Denmark at the Court 
of Berlin, and she retains to-day all the charm 
of manner which makes the entree to her 
salon so much coveted. 

My next experience was when I "presented" 
Charlotte Cushman to an Albany audience. 
The great actress had promised to give a 
Shakespearian reading, and as I had not 
thought it would be necessary to speechify on 
this occasion, I was very much startled when I 



THINGS I REMEMBER 87 

heard her say, "Now be sure to make a little 
speech and introduce me!" 

I must confess that I felt rather overawed 
by the actress, whose flashing eyes and some- 
what haughty demeanour seemed made to 
command, but I was literally tongue-tied, and 
for the life of me I could think of nothing to 
say, until I suddenly remembered a story I 
had heard from my mother about Charlotte 
Cushman's first bid for fame. 

I then told the assemblage how at a per- 
formance of Guy Mannering the leading lady 
was suddenly taken ill, and Miss Cushman, 
then an unknown actress, was called upon to 
play the part of Meg Merrilies. Her success 
was instantaneous; she roused the audience to 
such enthusiasm that she discovered her 
power, and thus inspired with belief in her- 
self she entered upon her wonderful career. 
"And," I concluded, "she stands before you 
to-night, the greatest actress of her day, the 
Mrs. Siddons of America." 



88 THINGS I REMEMBER 

My friendship with Charlotte Cushman 
dated from that little speech, and she loved to 
tell people that I had never spoken to an 
actress until I met her. She was a charming 
woman, and when I think of her I always re- 
call her "Frederick," uttered in deep, thrilling 
tones, which made one realize that one was 
being addressed by a tragedy-queen. 

The Association did not take up all my 
spare time, and I was drawn somewhat in- 
sensibly into the military life when I entered 
as a private in the Zouave Cadets, which were 
a company of the loth Regiment. My first 
parade took place when General Sheridan 
came to Albany, and our regiment was or- 
dered to escort him to the Capitol. I passed 
my home with a great deal of pride, for I felt 
certain that my father, who was standing out- 
side with a group of relations, would be sure 
to notice me and my martial bearing. Alas, 
for the vanity of youth ! I received a terrible 
snub when I returned to the house and heard 
the remark, "Well, Fred, it was quite im- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 89 

possible to make you out, there were so many, 
and you all looked alike." 

My father introduced me later to General 
Sheridan, and my ambition was so great in 
those days that I rapidly rose from lieutenant 
to captain, then to major, from major to lieu- 
tenant-colonel, and ended by finishing my 
military career as colonel on Major-General 
Carr's staff. I received my discharge after 
serving for eleven years in the National Army 
of the State of New York. 

It was in this company that my brother 
Bradley made his first parade when he was 
ordered to escort the body of Abraham Lin- 
coln from the station to the Capitol at Albany, 
there to lie in state for the night in order 
that the citizens could show their respect for 
America's greatest President. 

The President's progress was very impres- 
sive, as the corpse was conveyed by slow stages 
from city to city until it reached its final rest- 
ing-place at Springfield, Illinois, and I re- 
member how proud we all felt of Bradley's 



90 THINGS I REMEMBER 

vigil of twenty-four hours, when, as one of the 
sentinels, he guarded the remains of Abraham 
Lincoln. After this Bradley received his com- 
mission as lieutenant in the New York State 
Volunteers, and served until the end of the 
Civil War. 

At this time my occupations and interests 
were varied. I had plenty to do with the 
Association, my legal studies represented 
hours of steady work, and long before I was 
permitted to vote I worked politically for 
General Grant's election. My love of or- 
ganization was a salient feature in those early 
days, and I delighted to bring together tal- 
ented people; indeed my love of entertaining 
rather startled my father, who thought I had 
ideas beyond my age. But he did not inter- 
fere with my pleasures, and my frequent visits 
to my relations in New York broadened my 
mind and enabled me to get more and more 
in touch with people worth knowing. 



CHAPTER IV 

Newport in the days of my youth: The present 
town of palaces: Mrs. Paran Stevens: A great 
social leader: Her sister Miss Fanny Reed: Sung 
into society: A Patti of the salons: A concert 
during the war: Mrs. Stevens and Mr. Travers: 
"Cold tea, hot Apollinaris, and bad music": The 
Griswold Grays: An ideal cottage: Two dinners: 
Beauty and brains: The fountain: Why the ceil- 
ing fell down: Peter Marie: A gentleman of the 
old school: His poetical tendencies: Invitations 
in verse: Newport's vanished charm: Belle Vue 
Avenue of to-day: Motors and millionaires: 
Artificiality ever present: A trip to Europe: My 
dreams are realized: The old Russia: Fourteen 
days at sea: We arrive in London: The State 
entry of the Duke and Duchess of Edinburgh: A 
snowy reception: I see Queen Victoria: Her 
strength of character: On the balcony of Buck- 
ingham Palace: Prince Eddy and Prince George: 
Alone in London: Another imposing sight: The 
funeral of Napoleon HI: All is vanity: The 
Prince Imperial: A gallant figure: A procession 
91 



92 THINGS I REMEMBER 

of Imperialists : Shattered hopes : One whom death 
has forgotten: The Empress Eugenie: Vive I'Em- 
pereur : We return to London : I write an account 
of our experiences : The lost art of letter writing : 
The cable saves a sheet of note-paper 

The Newport of my young days was very dif- 
ferent from the town which it now is. I re- 
member it as a charming countrified watering- 
place to which people went on account of its 
natural attractions, and I must say I preferred 
its vanished rose-embowered houses and cot- 
tages to the marble palaces that have taken 
their place. 

It was during my first visit to Newport that 
I made the acquaintance of Mrs. Paran Ste- 
vens, one of the great social leaders in New 
York. She was a tall, handsome brunette with 
a magnetic personality, who dressed in ex- 
quisite taste, and whose position as a hostess 
was unassailable. Mrs. Stevens had a charm- 
ing sister, Miss Fannie Reed, and those who 
remember her delightful voice will also recall 
how every one flocked to Mrs. Stevens's Musi- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 93 

cales to hear Miss Fanny sing; indeed it was 
said that she had sung her sister into society. 
One day, when I was talking to Miss Reed, I 
complimented her on possessing her great gift 
and upon the applause which overwhelmed 
her whenever she sang. 

"Ah, Mr. Martin," she replied, "I am 
always happy when I can give pleasure to 
others, but my supreme triumph was at a con- 
cert given in Newport at the time of the Civil 
War. There were many Southerners present, 
and Mrs. Charles Kuhn was foremost in the 
work of organizing the entertainment, for we 
were badly in need of funds to provide com- 
forts for the wounded soldiers. Mrs. Julia 
Ward Howe, the authoress, and Mr. August 
Belmont were on the committee, and they 
asked me — 

"What will you sing. Miss Reed?' 

"I instantly mentioned Mrs. Howe's beauti- 
ful poem on the abolition of slavery, 'I'll sing 
that/ I said. 

" 'Oh, no,' came from many voices, 'impos- 



94 THINGS I REMEMBER 

sible, it would never do ; why, those in favour 
of the South would get up and leave the 
room.' 

"'Never mind,' I answered, 'I've the cour- 
age to sing it;' so the poem was arranged for 
orchestra and chorus, and I shall never forget 
my feelings as I stood on the platform and 
looked at the crowded audience. I began — 

" 'Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the 
Lord. 
In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born.' 

"and then came the refrain — 

" 'As He died to make men free, 
As He died to make men holy.' 

"I glanced at Mrs. Howe who was crying 
quietly, and I could see that Mr. Belmont was 
profoundly moved. Several elderly ladies 
were in tears, but not a Southerner present had 
risen to go. 

"When I had finished I was asked by sev- 
eral people: 'How is it possible for you to 
affect us so powerfully?' 



THINGS I REMEMBER 95 

" Well,' I replied, 'I suppose I must sing 
with the help of God.' " 

Miss Reed possessed a wonderful person- 
ality, and later, when she made her home in 
Paris, it was noticed that there was a decided 
falling off in Mrs. Stevens's Sunday night 
concerts; indeed, it was common gossip that 
one only heard the worst music on those oc- 
casions. A propQs of this, I remember an 
amusing passage of arms between Mrs. Ste- 
vens and the well-known wit Mr. Travers. 

"Well, Mr. Travers, I was beginning to 
think you had quite forgotten me," said Mrs. 
Stevens, when Travers presented himself one 
Sunday night after a prolonged absence. 

"My dear lady, it is impossible for me to 
resist the magnetism of your charming society, 
although I know it only draws me back to cold 
tea, hot ApoUinaris and bad music," replied 
Mr. Travers. 

"Never mind these trifling drawbacks," 
answered the lady, "I think you find ample 
compensation for them when you know that at 



96 THINGS I REMEMBER 

my musicales you meet all the most charming 
and civil people of the day." 

I once said to Mrs. Stevens, "You don't 
know what people say about your Sunday 
evenings, they call it Sabbath breaking." 

"Do they indeed?" she replied, with im- 
perial disdain. "They say. What do they 
say? Then let them say." And this answer 
was absolutely typical of Mrs. Stevens, as it 
expressed her whole character in a few words. 
She was a delightful woman, and I have often 
heard her say when any spiteful gossip was 
repeated to her, "Yes, that may be, but don't 
you think the best motto in life is 'Live and 
let live'?" 

Mrs. Paran Stevens built a modern house 
in Newport, which was considered quite an 
improvement on the older residences, but I 
must say that I preferred the low, ram- 
bling, flower-covered cottage occupied by the 
Griswold Grays. 

Mrs. Griswold Gray was one of the beau- 
tiful Miss Irvins of New York, and I have 



THINGS I REMEMBER 97 

always thought of her home as the ideal cot- 
tage, which is so hard to find. I can picture 
the quaint drawing-room where the walls were 
hung with pink-patterned chintz, and I can 
almost see the tangle of vines and Japanese 
roses which peeped in at the windows. Every- 
thing was cheerful and bright, and the mo- 
ment I crossed the threshold I felt I was in 
an atmosphere of charm and refinement. 

George Griswold Gray had always been a 
figure in society, and he achieved fame as a 
bachelor on account of his dinners, which set 
all New York talking. He announced before- 
hand that he meant to give two parties, one a 
"Beauty Dinner," and the other an "Intellec- 
tual Dinner," with the result that half the 
women were puzzling themselves over the 
question of whether it was better to be a wit 
or a beauty. 

The host was nothing if not original, and 
at the "Beauty Dinner" the table was arranged 
round a fountain, which threw up a jet of 
water almost to the ceiling. All went well 



98 THINGS I REMEMBER 

during the evening, but on the following day 
when George's mother returned from Boston, 
she found the ceiling reposing on the floor, as 
the watery atmosphere had worn it out most 
effectually. 

I remember meeting Mr. Peter Marie at 
Newport, and when I asked a lady to tell me 
who he was, I received the crushing answer, 
"I should advise you never to ask that ques- 
tion, Mr. Martin, for it proclaims you to be a 
nonentity here." 

Mr. Marie was an old bachelor, who had 
spent most of his life in study and travel, and 
whose collection of snuff-boxes was unrivalled. 
He had picked up many art treasures during 
his wanderings, and his parties were famous, 
for at them one could always reckon to meet 
most charming people. He was of a poetical 
turn and once gave a remarkable dinner, for 
which the invitations were written in poetry, 
and those invited were asked to respond in 
verse. A beautiful prize was awarded to the 
guest who composed the best answer, and I 



THINGS I REMEMBER 99 

believed that Miss Lampson, now Lady 
Drummond, was the winner. 

Peter Marie and Ward McAllister were 
"Brummellian" types, but whereas Marie was 
content to take life as he found it, McAllister 
was always progressive, feverish and restless. 
His social rival represented the rapidly disap- 
pearing old French type; he looked like an 
aristocrat of the time of Louis XV, and pos- 
sessed all the polished manners of the period. 

I often look back to those quiet days at 
Newport with positive regret. Then it was a 
place where one went to meet friends, not to 
make them; culture and charm were the pass- 
ports into society, but now wealth seems to 
be the Golden Key which unlocks most doors 
in this place of rich men's houses. 

Belle Vue Avenue, with its melee of expen- 
sive cars and their expensive owners, is as 
artificial as the unnatural-looking clumps of 
hydrangea which is Newport's favourite 
flower. What a contrast to the dignified 
Avenue as I remember it! But it is an age 



100 THINGS I REMEMBER 

of change, and Newport has shared the uni- 
versal fate. 

After my return from Newport my father 
decided that I was working at too many 
things, and that a trip to Europe would be 
beneficial to me. "Above all things remem- 
ber, Fred, that travel, taken seriously, will not 
fail to sharpen your intellect and increase your 
powers of observation," he remarked. And 
this advice, though obvious, was sound. 

So at last the dreams of my childhood were 
about to be realized. Years had passed since 
I stood on the old Battery and felt the kiss of 
the salt wind on my face and listened to the 
lure of calling lands. I was to see the Old 
World with its traditions, its romances, its 
history. I could visit the scenes which had 
appealed to me in song and story; I was eman- 
cipated from the domination of home — in 
short, a new life lay before me. But in the 
midst of my happiness I missed the beloved 
dead. I would have given much to have been 
able to talk with those two sympathetic listen- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 101 

ers who had always received and appreciated 
my confidences, and the thought of them made 
me sad. 

My brother Howard and I booked our pas- 
sages on the old Cunarder Russia^ which was 
then considered the line's smartest boat. The 
journey took fourteen days and the weather 
was tempestuous ; indeed at one time we only 
made sixty-five miles in twenty-four hours. 

We arrived in London just in time to wit- 
ness the state entry of the Duke and Duchess 
of Edinburgh after their marriage. Owing 
to the influx of people it was somewhat diffi- 
cult to get accommodation, but my brother 
and I found rooms in the old-fashioned 
Craven Hotel, which was then a quaint place, 
quite Dickensian in character. 

The next morning we were up early and had 
the luck to secure good seats to view the pro- 
cession. The weather (perhaps out of compli- 
ment to the bride's nationality) was almost 
Siberian. The snow fell steadily, and every 



102 THINGS I REMEMBER 

one turned up in furs and mufflers, while the 
streets were gusty strongholds of wind and 
occasional showers of sleet. The outlook was 
miserable; the very banners, weighted with 
snow, hung despondently from the poles; it 
was a depressing scene, although the warmth 
which the weather lacked was not wanting in 
the beaming faces of the spectators, who 
seemed determined to give the Duchess a 
hearty welcome. 

Queen Victoria looked remarkably well in 
her black silk gown and miniver-trimmed 
jacket, and the Duke of Edinburgh was a 
handsome figure in naval uniform. I thought 
the bride looked charming in her mantle of 
Imperial purple, but she was nervous, and 
perhaps this accounted for the impression of 
coldness and hauteur which struck the crowd. 

The Queen passed close to us, and although 
she could not, even in those days, have been 
considered beautiful, still her face was no- 
ticeable on account of its strength and char- 
acter. I was reminded irresistibly of my 



THINGS I REMEMBER 103 

Grandmother Martin when I looked at Queen 
Victoria, and I thought she seemed to possess 
a little of the austerity which had so charac- 
terized my relative. 

Directly the procession had passed we made 
our way through the good-natured crowds 
until at last we reached Buckingham Palace, 
where we saw the Queen come out on the 
balcony leading her little grandsons, Prince 
Eddy and the present King, by the hand. As 
she stood there, bowing her acknowledgments 
to her subjects' greeting, I felt a thrill of ex- 
citement, unknown perhaps to an Englishman. 
I came from a Republic that scorned the 
trappings of Courts, and only gave allegiance 
to Liberty; as an American I ought not to 
have been so tremendously impressed, but 
perhaps the spirit of some ancestor who had 
served his king in the way that loyal men 
have done stirred within me when I saw 
England's great Queen. 

One of the most interesting features of this 
memorable day was a torchlight procession 



104 THINGS I REMEMBER 

down the Embankment, and my brother and 
I paid the penalty of our whole-hearted curi- 
osity in remaining out to see it. We returned 
to the hotel half dead with cold, and I was 
ill for two or three days, a prisoner in an 
old-fashioned bedroom with its high "four- 
poster," which always seemed guarded by an 
army of shadows. I experienced a bad attack 
of home-sickness, which was far worse than 
bodily pain to me, but I soon got over it, and 
it was not long before my brother and I were 
out and about again. My father had not pro- 
vided us with any letters of introduction to 
Americans in London; his idea was to teach 
us self-reliance, and no doubt he was right. "I 
trust you both," he said, before we left home, 
"you are my sons; you know my opinions, so 
there is no need for me to tell you what to 
do, and what not to do. Behave like gentle- 
men, use your eyes, believe in yourselves, and 
you won't go far wrong." 

We certainly felt just a litle lonely in 
London, and I remember that one Sunday in 



THINGS I REMEMBER 105 

Hyde Park we felt rather out of it when we 
saw the constant interchange of greetings be- 
tween friends and acquaintances. 

"Doesn't it seem odd not to know a soul 
here, even by sight?" observed Howard. 

"Yes," I answered, "but I have made up my 
mind that one day I will know most of the 
people here who are worth knowing." 

Howard smiled at what seemed to him a 
piece of presumption, but I really meant 
what I said, and eventually I carried out my 
intention. 

We were lucky enough to witness another 
imposing sight during our first visit to Eng- 
land, but this time it was a funeral procession. 
One day we heard the newsboys calling out, 
"Death of the Emperor Napoleon," and we 
at once determined to see his funeral, for we 
judged it would be a most impressive sight. 

Chislehurst was then far more countrified 
than it is now, and on the day of the Emperor's 
burial it might well have been a village in 
France, as every one seemed to be speaking 



106 THINGS I REMEMBER 

French. My brother and I were able to get 
places in the first row of the spectators, and 
I was deeply moved at the dignity and sad- 
ness which characterized the proceedings. 

The ceremony was an object-lesson in the 
vanity of earthly hopes. The Napoleonic 
dynasty, so great in its rise, so tragic in its fall, 
seemed to have brought nothing but ruin and 
disasters to its members and their adherents, 
and as I watched the distinguished Frenchmen 
who followed the coffin of Napoleon III, I 
marvelled that their influence had not proved 
sufficient to establish him more firmly on the 
throne. 

It was a simple funeral. The Prince Im- 
perial walked immediately behind the hearse; 
he was bareheaded, and his sad blue eyes 
looked as if they were trying to pierce the 
casket which contained the body of his be- 
loved father. He was deeply moved, but his 
demeanour was full of dignity as he led the 
procession of Imperialists who centred their 
future hopes upon him. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 107 

I was greatly struck by the likeness of 
Jerome Bonaparte to the portraits of Napo- 
leon I; there was a crowd of Princes, and all 
the leaders of the Imperialist party seemed to 
have foregathered to pay a last tribute of re- 
spect to the unfortunate Emperor. 

But most of those who were present are 
now passed over. The gallant Prince Im- 
perial has gone to his long rest, and the Em- 
press is the only one of that ill-fated house 
whom Death seems to have forgotten. The 
glories of the Second Empire, the splendid 
days of the Tuileries, when Eugenie en- 
thralled Napoleon, only to give France a 
legacy of blood and tears, belong to an era 
about which the younger generation merely 
reads. There remains but an old woman who 
still hedges herself around with the stately 
ceremonial which was once so dear to her, and 
which has placed her among the great lonely 
ones of the world. 

I was especially impressed by the number 
of blouse-wearing workmen who attended the 



108 THINGS I REMEMBER 

funeral. It seemed wonderful to think they 
could spare the time and money to come 
over, but I thought their presence was a hope- 
ful sign for the Imperialists, as it showed that 
the masses were not out of sympathy with 
the Empire, and that they were still swayed 
by the magic name of Napoleon. 

As the Prince Imperial passed down the 
long avenue of elms and entered the home 
of his exile, a workman, who seemed to be 
the leader of his party, called out in clear, 
ringing tones, ''May you one day return to 
rule over us. Vive I'Empereur!" With in- 
describable enthusiasm the cry was echoed 
by thousands of voices, and as ''Vive I'Em- 
pereur!" woke the silnece with its thrill of 
loyalty and hope, I am sure there were few 
among the mourners who thought that the 
young Prince was not destined to sit on the 
throne of the Bonapartes and to revive the 
glory and prosperity of France. 

We returned to London with the feeling 
that we had witnessed an historical event, and 



THINGS I REMEMBER 109 

I remember sending my father a long account 
of the funeral. Autres temps, autres mceurs! 
In those days boys were fairly good corre- 
spondents, and it was not considered infra dig. 
to express one's emotions on paper, but things 
have changed since then, and now when young 
America is abroad it usually cables to the old 
folks at home, for letter-writing looks as if it 
had become one of the lost arts. 



CHAPTER V 

Paris : Memories of Malmaison : Two bad Queens : 
La Grande Duchesse : Fair Sinners : A clergyman's 
daughter: My compatriots: Mrs. Moore: Mrs. 
Ayers defies Time: A salon at seventy: The 
Baronne de la Selliere: Emma Eames: I meet 
Sargent: Bonnet and Carolus Duran: Rodin: His 
personality: The tragic eyes of Madame X: I 
hear her story: A callous mother: Society is 
shocked: Miss Reed: "The finder of stars": 
Sybil Saunderson: She sings to Massenet: Her 
success: She introduces Mary Garden to Miss 
Reed: A woman of temperament: Madame 
Melba: The meaning of work: Melba memories: 
A cake-walk at Palm Beach : Alone in New York : 
Ministers and their wives: The right people: 
How Mrs. Henry White separated the sheep from 
the goats: Mrs. Whitelaw Reid: General Porter: 
The McCormicks : Mr. Goodrich and Loie Fuller 

We left London for France immediately after 
the funeral of Napoleon III, for we had de- 
cided to spend a short time in Paris before 
going further south. 

110 



THINGS I REMEMBER 111 

When we arrived in Paris we found the city 
still bleeding from the wounds inflicted by the 
Commune, and indeed something of the horror 
of those days seemed present in the air. The 
Arc de Triomphe was riddle with shell, and 
looked deplorable; the Tuileries were in ruins, 
and the Hotel de Ville was only just rebuilt; 
but I think I first realized the ruthless- 
ness of war when I visited Malmaison, which 
had been converted into barracks, and the 
very walls seemed to cry shame upon their 
desecration. 

The Salle d'Honneur, where Josephine had 
often welcomed Napoleon, was almost dis- 
mantled, but the arras was still hanging there. 
Malmaison was infinitely pathetic in its decay; 
I admired the beautiful park, which was so 
much more attractive to me than the elaborate 
garden of Versailles, and I pictured Josephine 
as she wandered down the pretty avenue, alone 
with her memories of the days before she had 
been sacrificed on the altar of Imperial 
ambition. 



112 THINGS I REMEMBER 

The romance of royal residences has always 
appealed to me, and I think I could have 
spent hours dreaming over the past at Ver- 
sailles or Fontainebleau, but my brother in- 
sisted that we should thoroughly "do" Paris, 
more especially as our stay was to be short, 
for "you are not to remain long in Paris, and 
you are not to go to the play," wrote my father. 

I used to think that the saying, "Paris est 
le monde," was a somewhat sweeping asser- 
tion, but I felt it was partly true when I saw 
how people of all nations seemed drawn to the 
Ville Lumiere. One of my greatest pleasures 
has always been to watch the gay world in the 
drive, for by the laws of gravitation one so 
often sees the friend last met with in a dis- 
tant corner of the world. I frequently ob- 
served the two ex-Queens of Spain driving 
together, Isabella and her mother Christina, 
whose shocking example contributed to her 
daughter's downfall, although Schneider, the 
"Grande Duchessee" of immortal memory, 
had perhaps more to do with Isabella's over- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 113 

throw, for Offenbach's Opera, which was a 
keen satire on the Spanish Court, presented 
the Queen in a highly ridiculous light, and 
made her subjects thoroughly disgusted with 
her. 

I also saw certain ladies whose careers would 
have made Albany gasp with horror. One in 
particular, who wrought havoc wherever she 
went, was, sad to say, a clergyman's daughter 
from Philadelphia, but the only religious pre- 
cept to which she strictly adhered was a 
charitable love of all mankind. 

Cora Pearl was another striking-looking 
sinner in the monstrous legion of women who 
wreck the lives of men, and whose supreme 
selfishness knows no pity nor consideration. 
Their creed is the old exhortation, "Let us 
eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we 
die." 

My first visit to Paris made a lasting im- 
pression, and in later years I have spent many 
happy times there. The Paris of to-day is a 
very different place from the city of my youth, 



114 THINGS I REMEMBER 

and I have come to the conclusion that the 
city is best described as a fiery furnace in 
which weaker metals are speedily dissolved. 

Aristocratic French life has not been able 
to withstand the American invasion, and 
American gold has removed the barriers of 
the old regime and infused some gaiety and 
large-mindedness into a priest-ridden society. 
American women are not so powerful, how- 
ever, in Paris as they are in London, and I 
am inclined to put this down to the difference 
of religion and the influence of the Church, 
which dominates the families of the Faubourg. 

My charming compatriots do not trouble 
over obstacles, and they usually manage to 
have the best that life can give them. Priests 
or no priests, they invariably continue to make 
their presence felt, and I think that Mrs. 
William Moore is a typical example of what 
an American woman can accomplish in a 
foreign city. 

As Miss Kate Robinson of New York she 
married William Moore, a fairly rich Ameri- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 115 

can, and when she settled in Paris her little 
apartment was the rendezvous of a very pleas- 
ant set. But Mrs. Moore aimed high, and 
when she removed to the Avenue Marceau 
she gradually sifted out a certain American 
element and determined to conquer the im- 
pregnable Faubourg. She understood the 
whole art of knowing Who's Who, without 
mixing them, and her success was furthered 
by the social prestige given her by her friend- 
ship with the late King Edward, who de- 
lighted in her wit and courage. 

Mrs. Moore's judgment is essentially sound, 
but (and may I be forgiven) I fancy this 
charming lady is more governed by her head 
than her heart. A certain hostess lately gave 
a gorgeous entertainment, for which the 
Russian ballet was engaged "regardless of 
cost." 

"Well, Kate, are you going?" asked a 
friend. 

"Why, no," answered Mrs. Moore, "I'm not 
going." 



116 THINGS I REMEMBER 

"How odd, you used to know the X.'s so 
well." 

"Possibly; but, my dear, I couldn't afford 
to do so now, for I see signs of the setting sun 
in that family," observed Mrs. Moore in ac- 
cents which left no doubt as to the finality of 
her decision. Such conduct may be deemed 
snobbish, and may possibly be open to severe 
criticism, but with the class of American- 
French women which Mrs. Moore represents 
the unchanging rule is only to know the best 
people in the sense that Society uses the word. 

Of course, most blatant snobbishness exists^ 
and I remember a hostess who paid a large 
sum of money to a French Duchess with an 
historic name solely for the great lady to "walk 
on" at, or rather "through" her reception. 
The Duchess, to give her credit, did not keep 
the money, but gave it to the Church, and 
doubtless she was fully consoled for the pen- 
ance she had undergone. 

One of the most remarkable women I have 
ever met started a "salon" with wonderful 



THINGS I REMEMBER 117 

success at the age of seventy! This lady was 
a Mrs. Ayers, who hailed from Lowell, 
Massachusetts, and who came to Paris in 
order to try and lead a bigger and more eman- 
cipated life than she had done in America. 

Money was abundant with Mrs. Ayers, who 
possessed marvellous jewels, which comprised 
pearls of untold value, and the historic 
Mazarin diamonds. She was a little, shrunken 
old lady who clung to life with grim deter- 
mination, and whose yellow wig breathed such 
audacious defiance at Time that the tyrant 
seemed anxious to forget her. 

Mrs. Ayers first stayed at the Continental, 
but Miss Reed persuaded her to take a hotel 
and entertain lavishly, so negotiations were 
entered into for the purpose of a beautiful 
mansion. One morning the old lady went out 
to inspect the alterations which were being 
made at her new house, but as she was cross- 
ing the street her foot slipped and she fell, 
with arms outstretched to save herself. Un- 
fortunately a fiacre was passing, and the 



118 THINGS I REMEMBER 

wheels passed over Mrs. Ayers' wrists and 
broke them. 

One would have imagined that such a shock 
would put an end to all dreams of being queen 
of a salon, but nothing of the kind. Mrs. 
Ayers' wrists were put in plaster of Paris, 
and the indomitable lady refused to allow that 
she had met with a serious accident. With 
Miss Reed's assistance she threw open her 
lovely house, and her entertainments became 
famous. 

I can picture Mrs. Ayers as I used to see 
her, leaning on her gold-headed stick and 
smiling graciously at her guests from beneath 
an aureole of yellow curls, but her strange 
juvenile appearance was not lacking in dig- 
nity, and her late bid for social success was 
entirely satisfactory. At first her receptions 
were only attended by the French aristocracy, 
as some of the American leaders declared they 
"didn't know her at home," but gradually they 
fell into line, and Mrs. Ayers realized her 
fondest hopes and found herself surrounded 



THINGS I REMEMBER 119 

with a coterie of ultra-smart people. She and 
I became great friends; alone with me she was 
perfectly natural, and I was greatly amused 
at her powers of observation and keen insight 
into human nature. "These people think 
they're using me," she would remark, with a 
chuckle, "but they are wrong, for I tell you, 
Fred Martin, I'm using them all the time, 
although they never suspect it." 

Mrs. Ayers had an intense horror of death, 
and she often told me she hoped she would 
never know when her hour had come. Her 
wish was granted, for one morning when the 
maid went to waken her the knock was un- 
answered. Mrs. Ayers had passed away in 
her sleep; she looked perfectly peaceful and 
happy, and her little pet dog still slept in 
ignorance of what had happened to its 
mistress. 

I shall never forget this dweller in Vanity 
Fair, and I think the story of Mrs. Ayers' so- 
cial career proves what one full of firm pur- 
pose can do. Here was a woman who had 



120 THINGS I REMEMBER 

been repressed year after year, and who had 
lived in a groove seemingly contented, but 
v^ho yielded to the insistent demand of her 
inner self for a larger life. A trivial triumph, 
you will hear the moralist say. Perhaps so, 
but a triumph of the kind at seventy is surely 
worth recording. 

Another character in Parisian society was 
the Baronne de la Selliere, formerly Mrs. 
Livermore, who lived in the next house to 
Mrs. Ayers and entertained on the same ex- 
tensive scale. She was a charming woman, 
and her sister-in-law, the Princess de Sagan, 
always endeavoured to persuade the Baronne 
to become quite French in her appearance. 

"You've no idea how beautiful your white 
hair looks," I once said to her. 

"Do you think so?" replied the Baronne; 
"well, I don't mind telling you, in the strictest 
confidence, that the Princesse de Sagan in- 
sists that I shall never be really smart until 
I dye my hair red." 

The Princesse de Sagan was not happily 



THINGS I REMEMBER 121 

married, but she wore her rue with dignity, 
and the fashionable world never suspected that 
differences existed, or that her husband was 
paid £2000 to stand by occasionally and help 
his wife to receive her guests at the Palais 
Talleyrand. 

Mrs. Stephen Pell was a complete contrast 
to Mrs. Ayers and the Baronne de la Selliere. 
Her role was a serious one; she never lost any 
of her Puritanical ideas, or favoured the elab- 
orate chiffons so beloved by the other ladies. 
Mrs. Pell's grey hair was worn in two smooth 
bands, and her black silk gown was plain to 
severity; she looked like a Quaker, and had 
a very sermonizing manner, which always put 
me on the defensive until I remembered what 
a good woman she was deep down. 

She was wonderfully kind to Emma 
Eames, who was then in poor circumstances 
studying singing in Paris. Mrs. Pell believed 
in the girl's future, and had the satisfac- 
tion of seeing her prognostications come true. 
Madame Eames never forgot her benefactress, 



122 THINGS I REMEMBER 

for in after years whenever the prima donna 
was in Paris, she always insisted on singing 
to Mrs. Pell's friends, and I remember one 
evening Mrs. Pell getting up and solemnly 
opening a work-box, out of which she took a 
diamond necklace which she gave to the 
singer, much in the manner in which a teacher 
presents a pupil with a prize. 

I wonder whether Madame Eames ever re- 
calls her early struggles, or thinks of the days 
when she went to and from the opera in a 
crowded omnibus accompanied by her maid? 
I remember she once told me how interested 
she was to hear the criticisms of her singing 
from those of the passengers who had been to 
the opera and who little suspected that the 
prima donna was beside them. 

I have had the pleasure of meeting many 
interesting people during my various visits to 
Paris, and Madame de Sorchams, an acquaint- 
ance of my youthful days, introduced me to 
John Singer Sargent, who was then studying 
Art in Paris. "I want you to dine with me, 



THINGS I REMEMBER 123 

Fred Martin," said my friend, "to meet a 
young American who, in my opinion, will go 
very far," so I was naturally interested in the 
thoughtful young man with the penetrating 
eyes who sat next to me the following evening, 
and whose conversation proved him to be some 
one quite out of the ordinary. Sargent seemed 
to read one's inmost soul; indeed the souls of 
his sitters always show through their faces, 
and I wonder how certain people have ever 
had the courage to have their portraits painted 
by this exponent of "Know Thyself." 

Bonnat and Carolus Duran were friends of 
mine, and Bonnat painted several members of 
our family. Carolus Duran was a very ro- 
mantic person, and I remember when he was 
painting my niece. Lady Craven, that he 
would often put down his palette and brushes 
suddenly, and commence to play the guitar. 

I have always considered Rodin to be the 
greatest living genius, and the impression he 
made upon me when I visited his studio is 
ineffaceable. The sculptor was in his work- 



124 THINGS I REMEMBER 

ing blouse, and I could not help admiring his 
marvellous head. His personality was posi- 
tively magnetic; the whole air seemed to vi- 
brate with some subtle force, and when he 
spoke about his art he became absolutely en- 
grossing. ''Small wonder," thought I, "that 
this man is famous." 

I remember a curious story connected with 
my first introduction to a very beautiful wom- 
an, whom I met at dinner. After we had 
chatted together for some time, she remarked, 
''Mr. Martin, I've noticed that you have been 
staring at me, why is it? Has any one told 
you anything about me?" 

"No, indeed, madame," I replied, "I have 
heard nothing, but I must plead guilty to 
having looked at you with interest. You have 
the saddest eyes I have ever seen, and the more 
I look the more I am impressed by their 
sadness." 

"Yes," she assented. "I have had an un- 
happy life," but she gave me no further in- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 125 

formation. Later in the evening another lady 
asked me what I thought of Madame X. 

"It is no wonder she seems miserable," she 
said, "she has a most tragic history." 

"Indeed," I replied; "would it be a breach 
of confidence to tell me?" 

"Oh, no, it's everybody's secret," answered 
the lady. "When Madame X. was younger 
and more beautiful than she is now, her son, 
a charming lad of eighteen, who was at 
college, received an anonymous letter which 
accused his best friend of being his mother's 
lover. The boy was dreadfully upset, and 
with the impetuosity of youth he set off to see 
his mother in order to get the truth from her. 

"When he reached home he saw that the 
hotel was ablaze with light, for Madame X. 
was about to give a great ball, at which all 
fashionable Paris was expected. Heedless of 
anything save the monstrous accusation, the 
boy rushed into his mother's boudoir and gave 
her the fatal letter, exclaiming as he did so. 



126 THINGS I REMEMBER 

*Read this — you must, I beg of you, tell me 
that it is untrue.' 

"His mother read the letter slowly; there- 
upon she crumpled it up and threw it across 
the room with a gesture of supreme disdain; 
then she turned to her son and said — 

" 'By what right do you dare to show me 
this?' 

" 'By the right of my love for you,' he 
replied. 

" 'I refuse to answer any questions which 
refer to this letter,' answered Madame X. in 
freezing accents. 'Be good enough to leave 
me.' 

" 'So,' cried the poor boy, 'you can^t, you 
wont deny it. Then it must be true.' 

"Half-mad with shame and grief he rushed 
to the window, and threw himself out before 
his mother's eyes. He was dashed to pieces 
on the pavement below, but Madame X. 
seemed absolutely callous, for her one fear 
was that her ball might have to be cancelled 
if her son's awful end became known. She 



THINGS I REMEMBER 127 

gave orders that the body should be taken up- 
stairs, and then she descended to the ballroom, 
where the first guests were beginning to arrive. 

"The evening was a brilliant success, and 
the dancers were unaware of the presence of 
death in that lovely, glittering house; indeed 
the coroner was not notified until the next 
day. Gradually, however, the truth leaked 
out, and when Society realized the horrible 
heartlessness of which Madame X. had been 
guilty, she found many doors closed against 
her, and it's only just lately that she has begun 
to be received again." 

I was much shocked. "No wonder," said I, 
"that she looks sad." 

"Ah," replied the lady, "I believe she will 
never be happy again." 

I think that Paris will suffer a distinct loss 
when my dear old friend. Miss Reed, passes 
away. At her charming house in the Rue de 
la Pompe the extremes of Fame and Fashion 
meet, and I think Miss Reed would be well 
named "The finder of stars," for she has in 



128 THINGS I REMEMBER 

her day introduced Madame Melba, Mary- 
Garden and Sybil Saunderson to the world 
of music and song. 

Sybil Saunderson came to Paris to study 
singing, and directly Miss Reed heard her she 
declared, "My dear girl, you must meet Mas- 
senet, I'm sure he'll be enchanted with your 
voice." With Miss Reed to think is to act, 
and an informal musicale was arranged at 
which Massenet was present. 

Sybil Saunderson stood by the piano look- 
ing like a frightened school-girl and com- 
menced to sing. I glanced at the composer, 
who was listening intently; then his eyes 
sought Sybil's, and their expression seemed to 
give her encouragement, for she sang to him 
alone, her whole face transfigured with love 
of her art. The young girl's voice so fas- 
cinated Massenet that he taught her to sing the 
title-role of his opera Esclamonde, and her 
success was assured from the first night of its 
performance, when a crowded house ac- 
claimed her as a new operatic star. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 129 

She was a beautiful creature, dreamy, ethe- 
real and full of profound belief in an all- 
protecting Providence, but Sybil was never a 
great actress; she could not express the human 
chord in her beautiful voice; passion was 
unknown to her, and her singing left her 
hearers slightly cold. 

Sybil Saunderson discovered Mary Garden, 
and introduced her to Miss Reed. She was a 
wonderful "find," and I think she is unrivalled 
as an actress of temperament. Mary Garden 
can depict the emotions; she has a tempestu- 
ous personality, and to me she always seems 
the embodiment of the Battle of Life. It is 
pleasant to record that she never loses an 
opportunity of acknowledging her indebted- 
ness to Sybil Saunderson; it is a charming trait 
in her character, and an unusual one for a 
prima donna to possess, for few of the queens 
of song ever care to remember the days before 
they were famous. 

Madame Melba has honoured me with her 
friendship. "Do you remember, Mr. Mar- 



130 THINGS I REMEMBER 

tin," she has often said, "how hard I worked 
in Paris, and how kind Miss Reed was? 
When I see girls now who pretend to work 
and give themselves terrific airs, I feel in- 
clined to tell them that they don't know the 
meaning of the word." 

The great artiste is certainly a most de- 
lightful woman, and I remember how she 
once danced the cake-walk with me at Palm 
Beach, Florida, after her concert at the 
Flagler Mansion. Melba was enchanted 
with the negro songs which she heard for the 
first time, and when supper was over the 
orchestra played cake-walks which were quite 
unfamiliar to her. "But I must dance one," 
she declared. "So teach me, Mr. Martin." 
We had a regular jolly time, and I believe 
Madame Melba thoroughly enjoyed herself; 
she threw herself heart and soul into the 
fun, and soon danced like a past-mistress of 
the art. 

I remember seeing her in a more serious 



THINGS I REMEMBER 131 

mood one Christmas in New York. I was 
staying at the Plaza Hotel, and as I was pass- 
ing through the lounge I saw Melba sitting 
alone. 

"My dear Madame Melba, I'd no idea you 
were in New York," said I. 

"Well, I'd rather be anywhere else," she 
answered, "for I feel dreadfully lonely. I've 
got to sing to thousands of people who have 
homes, and who are enjoying Christmas, but 
I'm quite homeless to-night." 

I felt sorry, for I could see that she was 
really miserable, and it was only the promise 
to dine with my family which prevented my 
asking Madame Melba to dine with me. 
And yet there was a subtle irony in the situ- 
ation! Here was a great singer feted and 
flattered ever5rwhere, and she who had so 
much, wanted so little — only to be at home 
on Christmas night! 

But I am diverging in leaving Paris for 
New York at the magic of Melba's name, 



132 THINGS I REMEMBER 

and I am quite forgetting my charming com- 
patriots who made American-Parisian life so 
pleasant. 

The value of a woman's personality has 
been strikingly exemplified by the wives of 
some of our Ministers, and I think Mrs. 
Henry White carried ofif the palm for tact 
and understanding. She knew exactly who 
were the right people, and her dinners and 
teas illustrated the parable of the sheep and 
the goats. The sheep were invited to dinner 
and the goats browsed contentedly through 
the teas. Happily, they never suspected why 
they were asked to these informal gather- 
ings, and such was Mrs. White's savoir faire 
that nobody ever felt neglected. 

Mrs. Whitelaw Reid was considered a 
splendid hostess, but her entertainments were 
outrivalled by those which she afterwards 
gave in London. Her husband resigned his 
position in Paris, as he was asked to run as 
Vice-President with General Harrison, but 
Whitelaw Reid gave up the substance for 



THINGS I REMEMBER 133 

the shadow, for he was defeated in the elec- 
tions, and I think he always regretted leav- 
ing the Embassy. 

General Porter possessed the proud dis- 
tinction of having been the first Minister to 
make a speech in French in the Tuileries 
Gardens. He was most popular with the 
Parisian:, and one met the most charming 
and distinguished people during his term of 
office. 

Mr. and Mrs. McCormick were not very 
much liked, for Mrs. McCormick, who was 
a strong-minded woman, did not believe in 
entertaining Americans. Her idea was to 
confine her hospitality to the nation they had 
been sent to live with, and the Bacons pur- 
sued the same unpopular idea. 

The Goodrichs kept up all the best tradi- 
tions of hospitality, and Mrs. Sears enter- 
tained for her father with great dignity. I 
remember a rather amusing incident which 
occurred at one of their receptions, when 
the butler came up to Mr. Goodrich and said 



134 THINGS I REMEMBER 

with an air of mystery, "Miss Loie Fuller 
has just arrived, sir." 

"Well, why doesn't she come up?" asked 
the Minister. 

"Please, sir, she says she's too nervous," 
replied the butler. 

Mr. Goodrich at once hurried down and 
soon discovered the shy dancer. "Come right 
away with me," he insisted; so the Minister 
and Loie Fuller went upstairs together, and 
his kindness doubtless saved her a mauvais 
quart d'heure, for although Loie had by this 
time overcome stage fright, she did not feel 
quite equal to facing an Embassy reception. 



CHAPTER VI 

Victor Hugo's funeral: Under the Arc de 
Trlomphe: Severe simplicity: A poet's progress: 
The heart of the people : I recall another funeral : 
The King of Hanover: "The divinity which doth 
hedge a king" : Paris as a spectacular background : 
My apartment: My hobby: A man of peace: I 
give a party in the Bois : Cleo de Merode : Flaming 
June: A long vi^ait: Cleo appears: Why she was 
late: The ordeal by sunlight: Was she afraid of 
freckles?: The Gallic temperament: Mrs. Potter 
Palmer : A champion of women : The business ca- 
pacity of the American woman: "Do it yourself": 
The Duchesse de Chaulne: "Dook or no dock": 
Mrs. Campbell's common-sense: Vanished faces: 
"One must have courage": Rome and the Popes: 
Pius IX questions me about America: "Au Re- 
voir": My audience with Leo XHI: A dignified 
Pope: "Are you of my faith?": I explain that I am 
anxious to receive the blessing of a good man: I 
see Pius X: His extreme simplicity: I am pre- 
sented at the Quirinal: Queen Margherita: Her 
charm: "The Pearl of Savoy": Social Life in 
Rome: I meet Madame Ristori: Talks over the 
135 



136 THINGS I REMEMBER 

tea-cups: Ristori tells me about her meeting with 
Queen Isabella of Spain: "Anything you like to 
ask is granted" : "The life of a poor man" : Isabella 
keeps her promise: F. Marion Crawford: "A 
Cigarette Maker's Romance" 

I SHALL never forget the day when I wit- 
nessed the funeral of Victor Hugo. We were 
in Paris when he lay at the point of death, 
and I well remember seeing people raise 
their hats in silent sympathy as they passed 
the modest house in the Avenue Victor Hugo. 
The wish of the nation was to give the 
master a public funeral, so the Government 
decided that Victor Hugo's body should lie 
in state under the Arc de Triomphe during 
a whole night, and the corpse was accord- 
ingly removed thither, escorted by soldiers 
who afterwards guarded the dark pall-cov- 
ered coffin. All night long great torches lit 
up the scene, and countless thousands kept 
their quiet vigil beside the remains of one 
of the greatest men of letters France has 
produced. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 137 

Victor Hugo had expressed the wish that 
his funeral should be conducted with ex- 
treme simplicity, but this very simplicity was 
more impressive than an elaborate cere- 
monial, as never before was the popularity 
of the dead man so strikingly demonstrated. 

I saw the procession from a window in the 
Champs Elysees, and the cortege took hours 
to pass a given point. 

Almost every man and woman present 
carried a wreath, and the only sounds which 
broke the stillness were the steady tramp of 
the mourners, and the melancholy grandeur 
of Beethoven's Funeral March, which was 
played by the band of the Garde Republi- 
caine to the accompaniment of muffled 
drums. 

At last, after an interminable period of 
waiting, I saw the plain hearse, drawn by 
two horses, which contained the body, and 
I felt all the dramatic effect of such extreme 
simplicity. This unpretentious bourgeois 
hearse appealed far more to the public than 



138 THINGS I REMEMBER 

nodding plumes and caparisoned, sweeping- 
tailed horses, for it stamped the poet as one 
of the people, a man who loved and under- 
stood the heart of the world, and never did 
a monarch pass in such triumph as did the 
body of Victor Hugo on the way to its final 
resting-place at the Pantheon. 

This funeral carried me back to memories 
of another I had witnessed years before, 
when I had looked over the Champs Elysees 
at the gorgeous procession which escorted the 
remains of the last King of Hanover to the 
grave. 

The Prince of Wales and many other 
royalties followed the hearse, which looked 
like a mountain of flowers, and the trap- 
pings of the many horses which drew it were 
dazzling with silver stars. What a contrast 
to the funeral I had just seen! The flower- 
decked hearse bore the remains of a lonely, 
embittered, blind King, who had been de- 
posed from his throne and exiled from his 
country, to find a grave in a foreign land. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 139 

He was, doubtless, well and truly mourned 
by those who loved him, but the splendour 
of the mourners in their gorgeous uniforms, 
and all the "divinity which doth hedge a 
King," counted as little to my mind in com- 
parison with the dignity of the simple obse- 
quies of Victor Hugo. 

I think Paris affords a wonderful back- 
ground for spectacular displays. Some peo- 
ple dislike the Gay City, and are invariably 
depressed when there, but it has a peculiar 
fascination for me, and I love my apartment 
in the Avenue Gabrielle, where I have en- 
shrined my Lares and Penates. Collecting 
has always been my hobby since I was a small 
boy, and I remember how I used to pay, 
on the instalment plan, for some "curiosity" 
which took my fancy. Those days are past, 
but I am still thrilled with the joy of a 
"find," and, as a man of peace, it is strange 
to admit that my taste for the antique lies 
principally in Tudor and seventeenth-century 
weapons. 



140 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I remember giving a party in the Bois a 
few years ago, to which nine hundred guests 
came. I had arranged to have half the Pre 
Catalan shut off, and as a surprise-sensation 
I secured Cleo de Merode to dance during 
the afternoon. The engaging Cleo was then 
in the height of her "publicity," let us call 
it, for I do not think she was ever really 
famous as a dancer, and many of my fair 
friends considered that "starring" her was a 
slightly daring undertaking. 

It was a brilliant day in June, and the sun 
beat down on the silk-covered dais on which 
Cleo de Merode was to dance, but we waited 
in vain for her appearance. I began to get 
nervous, and sent to see whether the lady had 
arrived or whether she had telegraphed the 
evergreen falsehood "Unavoidably detained," 
for every one was saying, "This must be one 
of Fred Martin's jokes." 

At last, just as the sun dipped behind the 
trees, Cleo arrived on the scene, arrayed in a 
light summer drapery consisting of a few 



THINGS I REMEMBER 141 

yards of orange-coloured gauze, and duly 
danced before my guests. Her performance 
appealed more to the husbands present than 
to their wives, and it was not until the party 
was over that I heard the reason why Cleo 
was late. 

As a matter of fact she came in plenty of 
time, but she positively refused to face the 
ordeal of dancing in the sunlight. She was 
perhaps conscious that she was at her best 
when it was dark; perhaps she was afraid of 
freckles. At any rate, she remained in her 
stuffy dressing-tent until the sun was low and 
she could venture forth in safety. 

The Gallic temperament has appealed to 
many Americans, but to none more strongly 
than to Mrs. Potter Palmer, who has now 
practically deserted London for Paris, and 
lives in a beautiful hotel in the Rue Con- 
stantin. She is a wonderful personality, and 
her speeches on the Woman question at the 
World's Fair made a very deep impression 
on those who listened to them. Mrs. Palmer 



142 THINGS I REMEMBER 

manages her great estates with remarkable 
acumen, and she always continues to keep in 
touch with everything and everybody worth 
knowing. It is interesting to contemplate 
the business capacities of the American 
woman, and it is very rare to find any of 
our social leaders who do not go thoroughly 
into minute details of their affairs, believing 
doubtless that if you want a thing well done 
— do it yourself. 

I remember how the Duchesse de Chaulne 
decided to bring up her little son after her 
husband's tragic death. "Dook or no dook, 
he's got to earn his own living," said her 
father, old Mr. Shonts, so the Duchesse left 
France for America, where the young Duke 
is being brought up to work and to appre- 
ciate its value. Surely this is a striking ex- 
ample of the practical American woman, who 
never allows her head to be turned even in 
the most dazzling conditions. 

Another example of sound common sense 



THINGS I REMEMBER 143 

has been shown by Mrs. Douglas Campbell, 
who married the nephew of the Duke of 
Argyll. Amy Campbell loved Paris; she 
had hosts of friends there, whose kindness 
helped her to endure an unhappy marriage, 
but since her separation from her husband, 
Mrs. Campbell has given up her life in Paris 
and has devoted herself entirely to her son's 
education in order to prepare him for the 
duties of his future station. 

Paris is sometimes a place of saddened 
memories for me when I think of the 
familiar faces which have vanished for ever 
during the last few years, and I shall espe- 
cially miss my friend Pierpont Morgan, who 
loved Paris almost as much as I do. In 
1895 I travelled with him from Rome to 
Paris, and we spoke of many things. "Fred 
Martin," said Pierpont Morgan, "one must 
have courage to make money. I believe I 
could go into my office and pick out at a 
glance any one there who possesses pluck 



144 THINGS I REMEMBER 

and who will succeed in life." He was a 
very delightful man, and the soul of gener- 
osity. 

The mention of Rome reminds me of in- 
terviews which I had with Pius IX, Leo 
Xni and Pius X. My brother and I ob- 
tained the honour of an interview with 
Pius IX through the good offices of Cardinal 
Antonelli, and on the appointed day we pre- 
sented ourselves at the Vatican, where we 
traversed many splendid rooms, until at last 
we reached the Pope's apartments. 

We were then conducted to a small room 
hung with beautiful tapestries, and we waited, 
feeling rather nervous, for the Holy Father 
to make his appearance. After a few minutes 
Pius IX came in, and I remember how I was 
struck by his sweet eypression, and the charm 
of manner which attracted every one to 
him. 

The Pope was dressed in white with a 
scarlet hood, and he walked leaning upon a 
stick. We knelt when he entered, and Car- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 145 

dinal Antonelli stepped forward and an- 
nounced our names. 

"Americans?" inquired the Holy Father 
in a pleased voice, as he came forward and 
extended his hand for us to kiss. I told him 
how I had always wished to see him, and 
Pius replied kindly — 

"Well, my son, it gives me great pleasure 
to welcome you and to give you my bless- 
ing." Then, turning to Howard, he said, 
"Is this your brother?" 

The Pope asked us many questions. What 
did we think of Rome? Had we been happy 
there? What was New York like? Then he 
solemnly gave us the blessing of St. Peter and 
took leave of us, saying as he reached the 
door — 

"Au revoir, mes amis." 

My audience with Leo XIH was due to 
the kindness of his nephew, and I remember 
how I thought of gentle Pius IX as I passed 
through the Vatican to see his successor. 

I waited in the little room next the Pope's 



146 THINGS I REMEMBER 

bedroom, with two missionaries from South 
Africa, and presently the valet drew back the 
heavy tapestry and announced — 

"His Holiness approaches." 

We fell on our knees, and I shall never 
forget the dignified old man who came into 
the room and with arms extended gave us his 
blessing. 

Leo Xin was something like Voltaire in 
appearance, and his face seemed like a skull 
covered with skin. But his eyes were full of 
fine intellect, which seemed to triumph over 
the feeble body; after he had said Mass he 
sat in a golden chair, and we were presented 
to him. 

The Chamberlain conducted me to a cush- 
ion close to the Papal chair; I knelt down, 
and Leo XHI looked at me gravely. 

"My son, are you of my Faith?" he asked. 

"No, your Holiness," I replied, "I am a 
Protestant." 

"Then why," said the Pope somewhat 
sternly, "do you seek an interview with me?" 



THINGS I REMEMBER 147 

"Your Holiness," I answered, "my reason 
in asking for this interview arose from my 
wish to receive the blessing of a good 
man." 

His face changed, the severity disappeared, 
and he smiled kindly. 

"My son, I will give you my blessing most 
willingly, but first I should like to talk to 
you." 

We had a very interesting conversation; 
the Pope asked me all kinds of questions 
about America. "I do hope," he said, "that 
your great nation will spend its time in 
strengthening itself and refrain from engag- 
ing in wars; wars are fatal to the progress 
of mankind." 

As the Pope warmed to his subject he oc- 
casionally lapsed from French into Italian, 
and when the interview was over he said — 

"And now, my son, I will give you my 
blessing." He leant forward as he spoke and 
kissed my forehead, saying, "May you love 
God and serve Him," and as I rose and 



148 THINGS I REMEMBER 

backed to the door he smiled and waved his 
hand in farewell. 

Pius X impressed me by reason of his 
extreme simplicity. He came unattended, 
save for the President of the American Col- 
lege, who was there to introduce the Ameri- 
cans who were present. 

The Pope looked like a quiet country 
priest, and when he heard that I had re- 
ceived the blessing of two of his predecessors, 
he said — 

"Not only will I bless you on coming this 
third time to the Vatican, but I will also 
bless your family in my prayers." 

Shortly after my interview with Leo XHI 
my friend Mr. Wayne MacVeagh (the Amer- 
ican Ambassador at Rome) presented me at 
the Court of the Quirinal, where I had a 
most interesting conversation with Queen 
Margherita. 

The Chamberlain ordered that the repre- 
sentatives of each nation were to be grouped 
together, so when the Queen came in she 



THINGS I REMEMBER 149 

walked about and conversed with the Ger- 
mans, English and Americans present 

We Americans only numbered four, and 
the Queen, speaking in the most perfect 
English without a trace of accent, asked me 
how I liked Rome. 

"Some one has told me," she remarked, 
"that you are seeing a great deal of social 
life here. I hope you'll find Rome so at- 
tractive that you will re-visit it next winter." 

As she was talking Queen Margherita 
dropped her fan, which I picked up and re- 
turned to her, to be thanked with the greatest 
charm. I do not think I have seen a more 
beautiful woman than the Queen of Italy 
was at that time, and it is not surprising 
that she was called "The Pearl of Savoy." 

"Tell me about New York," she asked, 
"what is it like, does it resemble Rome?" 

I could not help smiling. "Your Majesty," 
I replied, "I can sum up the answer to your 
question in a very few words. There does 
not exist a greater contrast." 



150 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I enjoyed social life in Rome exceedingly, 
for I met many delightful people. I often 
heard Miss Reed's name mentioned by those 
who remembered her beautiful voice and her 
enthusiastic friendship with Liszt, which had 
its birth in the Eternal City, and which lasted 
until the great pianist's death. 

It was at one of these charming reunions 
that I first met Madame Ristori; the great 
actress was so pleasant to me that I frequently 
went to see her, and many were the agreeable 
chats I enjoyed. 

Madame Ristori told me that once when 
she was acting in Madrid she was command- 
ed to the Royal Box as Queen Isabella wished 
to converse with her. 

"The Queen," said Ristori, "was most 
gracious to me. 'It gives me the greatest 
pleasure to witness your wonderful acting,' 
she cried, and then in the true Spanish man- 
ner Isabella added, 'My house and all it con- 
tains are yours; anything you like to ask is 
granted.' " 



THINGS I REMEMBER 151 

"What request did you make?" said I, 
much interested. 

"I did not hesitate a moment," replied 
Ristori. " 'Madame,' I said, 'if you really 
wish to give me whatever I ask, may I beg 
you to reprieve the poor man who is to be 
garrotted to-morrow morning.' 

"The Queen frowned and hesitated. 'Very 
well,' she answered, 'your wish is granted.' 

"Isabella kept her promise, and the con- 
demned man was released on the eve of his 
execution, but I doubt whether he ever knew 
to whose intercession he owed his life." 

I was greatly interested at hearing this 
human story, and the expression of Ristori's 
face as she told it to me was a thing to 
remember. 

One of my pleasant memories of Rome is 
my meeting with the late Marion Crawford. 
His wife was a most charming woman, and 
I remember she asked me which of her hus- 
band's books I liked best. ''A Cigarette 
Maker's Romance," I replied. 



152 THINGS I REMEMBER 

"Well," said Mrs. Crawford, "that was 
written for me when I was ill. My husband 
used to write a chapter at a time and read it 
aloud to amuse me; the 'Romance' continued 
in this way until I was well, and by that time 
it had grown into a novel." 



CHAPTER VII 

Looking backward: London in the seventies: 
The growth of hotel life: Clubland: The border 
line : The repose of societ}' : Modern woman : Suc- 
cessful sinners: Vows sometimes made to be 
broken: The season: Then and now: The day of 
the automobile: Church versus car: The three 
arbiters of fashion: The Mahlon Sands': Mrs. 
Sands' friendship with the late King: A cold din- 
ner: At Waddesdon Manor: A house-warming: 
Interesting visitors: I talk to the Prince of 
Wales: His visit to America: The Souvenir 
Cigar: H.R.H. is amused: His dislike of Ameri- 
can men: His criticism of adverse criticism: The 
late King's ideas of dignity : Where fools rush in : 
The aspirant's downfall: The Rothschilds: How 
they purchased pictures: Miss Alice Rothschild: 
Tears have their uses: I meet Mr. Gladstone: His 
opinion of the masses: Their ultimate power: 
New ideas : How Mr. Gladstone defied time : The 
cobwebs of the Old Country: The power of the 
Press: Houses and their occupants: What the 
supersensitive experience: Death of Mahlon 
153 



154 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Sands: His talents: A witty answer: His accident: 
"Better death than life without thee" : A last in- 
terview with Mrs. Sands: Her sudden end: "Ills 
have no weight and tears no bitterness" 

Looking back on London as I knew it in the 
seventies and eighties, I am astonished at the 
developments which have taken place, and at 
the big changes in hotel and restaurant life. 
When I came to London there were no big 
hotels; fashionable people went to Brown's, 
Claridge's, Thomas's and to the Langham, 
which had just then been built. 

I was greatly impressed by the repose of 
Society in those days. The spirit of unrest, 
with which we are now familiar, was prac- 
tically non-existent. Clubland claimed the 
men, and there was none of the intimacy be- 
tween the sexes which exists to-day. Women 
did not golf, or go in for sports, and it was 
only when hunting that they met the Lords 
of Creation on equal ground. Ladies were 
not the companionable beings they are now, 
when many of them smoke with the men, 



THINGS I REMEMBER 155 

listen to risky stories without a blush, and 
discuss stocks and shares with businesslike 
acumen. The "Nut" and the "Flapper" 
were luckily unknown, and the sight of a 
girl lunching alone with a young man and 
enjoying a cigarette would have been a thing 
undreamt of. People lived with more dig- 
nity and sinned more successfully than they 
do now, for divorce cases with nauseating 
details, which make the fortunes of some 
cheap newspapers, were much rarer than they 
are to-day, when marriage vows seem to be 
regarded by certain people as a joke. 

The best families came up to London and 
settled down for the three months season, but 
these stately trips have been to a great extent 
swept — I might say "petroled" — away, now 
that the automobile has bridged long dis- 
tances. The many empty houses in the best 
streets bear silent testimony to the power of 
the car, which does away with the necessity 
of taking a furnished house for the season, 
and enables people to run up and down from 



156 THINGS I REMEMBER 

the country and do theatres and balls with- 
out fatigue. 

There is no doubt that the automobile has 
become one of the most powerful enemies of 
the Church. Once it was customary for 
fashionable people to go to fashionable 
churches, and to walk afterwards in the Park. 
Now, many smart women often neglect their 
duty to God by not going to church, and their 
duty to their neighbour by not showing off 
their toilettes when the service is over. In- 
stead of going to church they are off some- 
where by car, and the practice is steadily 
increasing. 

The three arbiters of Fashion when I first 
came to London were Lady Cork, the Hon. 
Mrs. Lowther and Mrs. Bentinck. These 
ladies ruled Society; once "passed" by them 
all was well, for their verdict set the seal 
of approval upon newcomers in the social 
whirl. 

My greatest friends in those days were Mr. 
and Mrs. Mahlon Sands, who had settled in 



THINGS I REMEMBER 157 

London and went everywhere. Mrs. Sands 
was a beautiful woman who possessed a great 
power of attraction, and the late King, then 
Prince of Wales, liked her and her husband 
and honoured them with many proofs of his 
friendship. 

I shared a house in Town with Harry 
Sands, Mahlon's brother, and Mahlon and 
his wife did everything possible to enable 
us to have a good time. 

I remember Mrs. Sands once telling me of 
an occasion when the Prince of Wales hon- 
oured her with his presence at dinner. She 
asked the Prince about the guests he wished 
to meet, and received the charming reply, 
"All your friends are delightful, but I must 
ask you one favour, do give me a cold dinner 
all through." So everything, from soup to 
savoury, was served cold, and H.R.H. ex- 
pressed himself as delighted. 

Mrs. Sands told me it was wonderful to 
see the pleasure the Prince took in small 
things, and nothing delighted him more than 



158 THINGS I REMEMBER 

to examine all the presents which were sent 
to him on his birthday and at Christmas. 

I met the late King for the first time when 
I went down, with the Sands', to the house- 
warming given at Waddesdon Manor by 
Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild. 

A most interesting house-party had been 
invited to meet the Prince of Wales, among 
them being Mr. and Mrs. Henry White (the 
former just commencing his diplomatic ca- 
reer as Second Secretary at the American 
Legation), Lord and Lady Cadogan, Mr. 
Arnold Morley and the beautiful Lady 
Brooke (now Countess of Warwick), who 
was in the zenith of her loveliness. 

I had several opportunities of talking to 
the Prince, and I shall never forget the im- 
pression which Edward the Peacemaker 
made upon me. He was better as a listener 
than as a conversationalist, but what he said 
was infinitely tactful and sensible, and he 
seemed to enter thoroughly into the subject 
about which he was talking. I told the 



THINGS I REMEMBER 159 

Prince that I had seen him on his only visit 
to America, when my uncle, who was adju- 
tant-general on Governor Morgan's staff, had 
conducted him by train to the border of the 
State of Massachusetts. "When you left the 
train, sir," I continued, "you handed my 
uncle a cigar, with some charming acknowl- 
edgment of his attention. *Shall I light your 
cigar?' you asked." 

"My uncle answered laughingly, 'If your 
Royal Highness will permit me, I would pre- 
fer to keep it intact, so that the souvenir of 
your condescension may not end in smoke.' " 

The Prince seemed amused and interested, 
and he asked me what were my impressions 
of his visit; we discussed America and the 
Americans, and I was surprised at his knowl- 
edge of many things that had happened on 
the Other Side. He bade me good-night 
with many kind words, and I felt greatly 
honoured, for the late King never cared 
much for American men. Mrs. Sands once 
asked him the reason, and received the reply. 



160 THINGS I REMEMBER 

"They are not adaptable, that's the r-r-rea- 
son!" The late King used to tell Miss Alice 
de Rothschild that although American wom- 
en were charming, his one adverse criticism 
was that they passed judgment upon each 
other too sharply. "Whenever I ask Con- 
suelo Duchess of Manchester about an Amer- 
ican lady," said H.R.H., "I am invariably 
told, 'Oh, sir, she has no position at home; 
out there she would be just dirt under our 
feet' " 

King Edward could be very severe with 
those who overstepped the rules prescribed by 
etiquette, and I remember what happened 
to an American girl who offended him. At 
a smart bazaar, the winner of a lucky lottery 
ticket had the privilege of asking three wishes 
from the Prince of Wales, and Fate favoured 
a young lady from the States. 

"What is your first wish?" asked H.R.H. 

"Oh, sir, it is to have your photograph." 

The Prince beamed. "Granted," he said. 
"And the next?" 



THINGS I REMEMBER 161 

"I would like you to bring me the photo- 
graph in person." 

H.R.H. hesitated, frowned, and recovering 
from his surprise answered, "That shall be 
done, now what is the last?" 

Never was the truth of the saying so appar- 
ent that "Fools rush in where angels fear to 
tread." The young lady disregarded the 
warning looks from those around her. "The 
third wish, sir, is that you will present me 
to the Princess of Wales." 

The Prince looked at her coldly. "Grant- 
ed," he said, and walked away without a 
word. The silly girl realized that she had 
sinned against Society, which never forgives 
fools. She made a hasty exit, and the waves 
of the social sea closed over her for ever. 

I thoroughly enjoyed my visit to Waddes- 
don, which is a palatial residence, and I have 
the happiest remembrances of the Roths- 
childs. I once asked Baron Ferdinand how 
his family had collected so many beautiful 
pictures, and he told me that in the old days 



162 THINGS I REMEMBER 

the Rothschilds used to visit sales unnoticed 
and bid for the pictures they fancied. When 
the purchase was completed it was never 
paid for by cheque, but always in notes and 
gold, and afterwards taken away in a four- 
wheeled cab. 

Alec Yorke's brother, Eliot Yorke, was the 
first Christian to marry into the house of 
Rothschild, when Miss Annie de Rothschild 
became his wife in 1873. Her father was 
asked why on earth he had so departed from 
the family traditions, but he merely shrugged 
his shoulders and replied — 

"What else could I do, when I had tears 
from my wife and daughter from breakfast- 
time until bed-time?" 

I met all kinds of delightful people at the 
Sands' house in Portland Place, and I was 
frequently invited to meet Mr. Gladstone at 
dinner. It was most interesting to hear his 
views upon current topics, and I remember 
him saying with great emphasis — 

"Mr. Martin, believe me, if you don't give 



THINGS I REMEMBER 163 

the people their rights they'll take them." 
This remark was a propos of a discussion he 
was carrying on with a member of the Cab- 
inet. They were talking about the growth 
of education in the lower classes, and Mr. 
Gladstone predicted the ultimate power of 
the masses at no distant day. "The schools 
are now filled with children," he said, "who, 
when they grow up, will think for them- 
selves, and will not allow the Lord of the 
Manor to think for them." 

I once remarked to him, "I think it's mar- 
vellous that you can do so much and keep 
your health." Gladstone smiled. "Well, I 
manage to keep well, because I always go to 
the country to recuperate. I keep my en- 
thusiasm because I'm always on the look-out 
for new ideas, no matter where I may go, 
and I find that even a child is capable of 
giving me a fresh thought." 

As I looked at Gladstone I marvelled at 
his mental force which defied age, and his 
whole bearing was such that he might well 



164 THINGS I REMEMBER 

have been taken for a man in the prime of 
life, instead of one who was nearing the end 
of his day. 

He took a keen interest in American de- 
velopment and the great possibilities latent 
in the United States. "Ah, Mr. Martin," he 
would say, "you in that New Country pos- 
sess such vitality and power that the very 
winds which come from the Atlantic bear 
sufficient strength on their wings to brush 
away many of the cobwebs of prejudice which 
still cling to the Old World." 

Mr. Gladstone's greatest charm was his 
simplicity of manner, and the intense interest 
he showed when he listened to the conversa- 
tion of others. He had a perfect obsession 
about the value and importance of the Press, 
and he often said to Mrs. Sands, "The golden 
rule of daily life is to commence the morning 
with your newspaper. Read what has hap- 
pened the day before, or you will never keep 
in touch with the world." 

I often think of my dear friends Mr. and 



THINGS I REMEMBER 165 

Mrs. Sands, who are both dead, and I do 
not think that the house in Portland Place 
will ever again have such charming occu- 
pants. I wonder whether personalities cling 
to houses, especially when those who lived in 
them were people of temperament. It is 
certain that some dwellings have the faculty 
of inspiring peace, while others have a con- 
trary effect, but luckily for most tenants it is 
only the supersensitive who receive these 
uncanny impressions. 

Mahlon Sands predeceased his wife. He 
was a very able man, and I believe he would 
have made his mark in American politics if 
he had had an ambition that way. I remem- 
ber once hearing a story about him when 
Senator Conkling was laying down the law 
at a dinner in New York. Sands seemed 
somewhat abstracted, which annoyed the 
speaker, who rapped the table sharply and 
said in acid accents — 

"Young man, you're a very poor listener." 
Mahlon smiled sweetly at the Senator. "Well, 



166 THINGS I REMEMBER 

that depends," said he, "upon who's doing 
the talking." 

Poor Sands, he met with a fatal accident 
when riding in the Park, and I shall never 
forget the agonized appeals of his wife to the 
doctors at St. George's Hospital. Minnie 
Sands was one of those women who cannot 
exist without love. Her husband represented 
to her all that made life worth living, and 
after he died she did not wish to live. "Bet- 
ter death than life without thee," wrote a 
heroine of the Renaissance, and this applied 
to Minnie Sands. I was the last friend who 
saw her on the day of her sudden end. As 
I said good-bye she placed her hands on my 
shoulders. 

"Fred," she whispered, "you've been such 
a comfort to me in my sorrowful hours." 

"Ah, Minnie," I answered, "but is it not 
good that you can look back on your brilliant 
days?" 

"Perhaps," she said, "but sometimes I fear 
I spoilt my husband's career when I asked 



THINGS I REMEMBER 167 

him to live in England, he had such great 
talents. I wonder whether he ever felt sorry 
he didn't take up a political life." 

"He never regretted his career," I assured 
her, "for his love for you was stronger than 
his ambition." 

I said good-bye to Mrs. Sands and prom- 
ised to come again very soon, but little did I 
dream that I had seen her for the last time. 
After I left the house my poor friend went 
to lie down in her boudoir, and there Deaths 
sudden and merciful, came and transported 
her to the land where "ills have no weight 
and tears no bitterness." 



CHAPTER VIII 

Cowes: Pleasant Recollections: I meet the late 
King: The value of royal anecdotes: A reviewer's 
disapproval : Viscount de Stern : Alexander Yorke : 
A wonderful mimic: He imitates Queen Victoria: 
A summons at the window: "I'm a done man": 
The Prince's command: "What will the Queen 
say?": Alec plays hymns: I meet Sir Oscar Clay- 
ton: A distinguished physician: His weakness for 
titles: "I've met seven Duchesses": It is worry 
that kills: Want of money often the root of 
bodily evil: Cheques instead of prescriptions: The 
Prince comes to supper: The missing singers: 
H.R.H. consoles Stern: "A Feast of Lanterns": 
An English peerage for £70,000: Lord Wands- 
worth : An election story : Mrs. Mackay at Cowes : 
Her marvellous jewels: Dancing the "Boston": 
Lady Henry Lennox: What constitutes enjoy- 
ment?: Cowes recalls Cannes: The Earthquake: 
The late King at Cannes: Mrs. Campbell of 
Craigie: "Lend me your valet": He pours the 
coffee over the cloth: H.R.H.'s kindness: Adele 
Grant and Lord Cairns : Monte Carlo : Gambling 
resorts in the sixties: The four friends: Garcia: 
168 



THINGS I REMEMBER 169 

His system: The Prince and the gambler: Dis- 
reputable company: Where did the Duchesses 
come in?: The clergyman and his daughters: 
Playing by proxy: Twice lucky: Why "twenty- 
three" was wrong 

Some of my most pleasant recollections linger 
around Cowes, where I have spent many 
"weeks" and where I often had the honour 
of meeting the late King. 

I have observed that a certain section of 
the English Press appears to disapprove of 
the publication of anecdotes of a "human" 
character concerning King Edward, and I 
remember that one of the leading Sunday 
newspapers severely criticized a recent book 
of Recollections because it contained what 
the reviewer described as "trivial" stories 
about the late King. The critic, who was 
obviously sincere, implied that it was bad 
taste on the part of people who had met 
King Edward to talk about him as a man; 
in fact, he practically dubbed them pre- 
sumptuous. 



170 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I think that anecdotes of the late King 
which show him in a kindly light possess 
considerable interest to this generation, for 
in a manner they keep green the memory of 
a monarch who was intensely admired by his 
subjects — thousands of whom were in sym- 
pathy with him as a man who loved life and 
always got the best out of it. 

I spent one delightful week at Cowes as 
the guest of Viscount de Stern (who was 
afterwards created Lord Wandsworth), and 
among his guests was the Hon. Alexander 
Yorke, then Gentleman-in- Waiting to Queen 
Victoria. 

Alec Yorke was a wonderful mimic, and he 
could imitate Queen Victoria to perfection; 
his facial resemblance to his Royal Mistress 
was positively astounding when he used to 
twist a dinner-napkin into a cap, and act the 
Queen to the life; it was rather disrespectful, 
but it was certainly very amusing. 

One evening I got back late to my host's 
cottage, and just as I had fallen asleep I was 



THINGS I REMEMBER 171 

awakened by some gravel being thrown up 
at my window. I got out of bed, opened the 
window, and heard Alec say, in disconsolate 
tones — 

"Fred, for goodness' sake let me in, I'm a 
done man." 

I at once went downstairs, unbolted the 
door, and Yorke appeared, looking the pic- 
ture of misery. 

"What ever is the matter?" I asked. 

"There's the devil to pay," he replied 
gloomily. "I went to a supper party at Lady 
Mandeville's to-night, and H.R.H. was pres- 
ent. After supper the Prince said to me, 
*Oh, Mr. Yorke, will you give us some "imi- 
tations"? I hear you can take off my mother 
very well. Please do so.' 

" *Oh, sir, pray excuse me,' I begged. 
What will the Queen say if it gets to her 
ears? She'll never forgive me.' But H.R.H. 
commanded, and I had to obey." 

I said nothing, but from what I knew of 
the Queen's character I entirely sympathized 



172 THINGS I REMEMBER 

with my friend. Alec, in his anxiety, con- 
tinued, "The worst of it is that the Queen 
told one of the Ladies-in-Waiting that she 
had been informed I could mimic, but that 
she would never believe I could possibly be 
so vulgar." 

I do not know whether Queen Victoria 
ever heard of what had taken place, but I 
fancy not, for she was always very fond of 
Yorke, and loved to hear him play her fa- 
vourite hymns. Alec used to tell me that it 
was rather touching to hear the Queen at- 
tempt to sing a hymn which appealed to her, 
for her musical voice had long gone, and she 
had to content herself with merely repeating 
the words, which she did with infinite 
pathos. 

Sir Oscar Clayton was another of Viscount 
de Stern's guests. He was a quaint-looking 
little man, a distinguished physician, and a 
great favourite with the late King, whose 
recovery from typhoid fever was always at- 
tributed to Sir Oscar's skill. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 173 

The Physician to the Household had one 
harmless weakness: he dearly loved a Lord, 
and I remember once hearing him say with 
tremendous pride, "I've been in luck to-day, 
I've met no less than seven Duchesses I" Sir 
Oscar was a kindly man, and when I com- 
plimented him upon his wonderful success in 
his profession, he replied with a smile: "Ah, 
Mr. Martin, I should have been far more 
successful if I had sometimes been able to 
write cheques instead of prescriptions for my 
patients. I have not reached the age of 
eighty-three without knowing that worry 
kills most people, and that want of money 
is often the root of bodily evil." 

One day Stern came in to lunch looking 
well pleased, for the Prince of Wales had 
told him he would sup at the Cottage that 
evening. The party was to be a small one, 
and Stern telegraphed to Town for some 
singers, who were expected to arrive at Cowes 
by a late boat. The servants spent a busy 
afternoon decorating the garden with Japan- 



174 THINGS I REMEMBER 

ese lanterns, and at night it looked like a 
veritable fairyland scene. 

After dinner the Viscount was on tenter- 
hooks lest the singers should disappoint him, 
and his feelings can be better imagined than 
described when the last boat came in without 
them. He was like one distraught, and when 
the Prince arrived with Lord Suffield he at 
once noticed his host's distress. 

"What's the matter?" inquired H.R.H. 

**Oh, sir," replied Stern, "I've done my 
best to endeavour to entertain you, but the 
boat's arrived without the singers." 

"Is that all?" laughed the Prince. "Well, 
don't let it trouble you, for what could be 
more delightful than your illuminated gar- 
den? And I am sure that no music could 
possibly come up to this Fete des Lanternes." 

The situation was saved by the Prince's 
tact; his host forgot his disappointment, 
and the evening ended in a most pleasant 
manner. 

The Viscount was always a little ashamed 



THINGS I REMEMBER 175 

of his foreign title, and I remember an 
amusing election story about him. He had 
asked me to address his constituents, but be- 
fore we went to the meeting I was struck by 
Stern's disconsolate expression. "Come," I 
said, "what on earth's the matter?" "Well," 
he replied, "it has just occurred to me that 
what with my foreign title and your Amer- 
ican accent my political career will be about 
finished to-night." I assured him that I was 
not dying to address the electors, and I am 
glad to say we did not make such a bad 
impression as he anticipated. 

The Viscount always looked on the £70,000 
which his mother gave the Party as a good 
investment, for it ultimately enabled him to 
change his name. When Mr. Gladstone gave 
up office. Viscount de Stern, of the kingdom 
of Portugal, much to his delight, became 
Lord Wandsworth, and thoroughly enjoyed 
his elevation, by draft, to the English peer- 
age. 

I met Mrs. John Mackay for the first time 



176 THINGS I REMEMBER 

at Cowes, where she had with her, as her 
guests, Mr. James Brown-Potter and his 
beautiful wife, who afterwards adopted a 
stage career with varying success. I remem- 
ber every one at "Egypt" talking about Mrs. 
Mackay, and the women were on the edge 
of expectation to see what jewels she would 
wear at Mrs. Laurence's ball. I arrived 
rather early, and every lady present seemed 
to look like the contents of a jeweller's win- 
dow, so dazzling were the diamonds. I 
suppose the display was for Mrs. Mackay's 
benefit, and was meant to imply, "Well, you 
may possess jewels of untold value, but we 
are not quite out of the running." 

At last the name of Mrs. John Mackay was 
announced, and everybody turned to look, 
fully expecting to see a walking Golconda. 
Instead of that, there appeared a young and 
charming woman, dressed in white, without 
a single jewel! 

Mrs. Mackay must have enjoyed the sen- 
sation her simplicity created, and I had the 



THINGS I REMEMBER 177 

pleasure of dancing the cotillion with her. 
The Prince of Wales danced with Lady Ver- 
non; his son Prince George, then a shy young 
naval officer, had Lady Mandeville for a 
partner, and when it was over Mrs. Mackay 
suggested that we should dance the Boston. 

Nobody seemed familiar with the step, so 
we danced it alone, much to the amusement 
of the lookers-on. When we had finished, 
the Prince took out Mrs. Mackay, who ini- 
tiated him into the mysteries of the dance, and 
soon everybody was trying to "Boston," 
which speedily became most popular at 
Cowes. 

I always enjoyed myself at Cowes, and I 
was "put down" for the week at the R.Y.S. 
by Lord Suffield, while Lord Henry Gordon 
Lennox did the same for my friend Sands. 

The late Lady Henry Lennox was quite a 
character. One day, when she was lunching 
with Viscount de Stern, the conversation 
turned upon the pleasures of life. Every one 
present gave his or her idea of what consti- 



178 THINGS I REMEMBER 

tuted enjoyment; some decreed for balls, 
others for Musicales, and at last Lady Henry 
remarked, in her impressive manner, speak- 
ing with a slight drawl — 

"Oh . . . well . . . for myself I like din- 
ners better than anything else." 

"Dinners!" exclaimed her host. "My dear 
Lady Henry, surely you are not a gourmet!" 

"Oh . . . no . . ." drawled the lady; "I 
like dinners because I know I am certain 
to have a man on either side of me who can't 
get away." 

Whenever I think of Cowes it invariably 
calls to my mind Cannes, where I have passed 
some happy days, although one of my visits 
there was saddened by the news of my dear 
father's illness and death. That March was 
cold and stormy, and I shall never forget the 
earthquake which did such tremendous dam- 
age in France and Northern Italy. I was 
staying with old Mrs. Sands at the Villa 
Soleil when I was awakened by the whole 
house rocking like a ship at sea. I heard 



THINGS I REMEMBER 179 

screams of terror; people rushed down the 
corridor to escape into the open, and I lost 
no time in following their example. 

Every one was nearly mad with fear, and 
it is impossible to describe the awful sensa- 
tion of the rolling and heaving earth; in- 
deed, for years afterwards the sound of a 
heavy cart passing would make my mind 
revert to my first and terrible experience of 
an earthquake. 

The late King was at Cannes in the eigh- 
ties, and I remember once receiving an agi- 
tated message from Mrs. Campbell of Craigie 
bidding me come to her cottage at once. 
"My dear Fred Martin," she announced, 
"I'm in an awful dilemma. The Prince 
proposes to dine with me to-morrow night, 
and I've only two men-servants. Could you 
lend me your valet?" 

"Of course," said I, and my man was most 
excited at the idea of waiting on the Prince 
of Wales. All went well until coffee was 
served, when my factotum lost his head, and 



180 THINGS I REMEMBER 

poured the coffee over the cloth instead of in 
H.R.H.'s cup. The late King showed on 
this occasion another instance of his usual 
kindness. He turned to the man, who was 
positively panic-stricken, and said, "Now, 
don't mind; it wasn't your fault; you were 
nervous," and my servant's comment to me 
afterwards was, "Oh, sir, fancy his Royal 
Highness being so considerate. What luck 
for England to be ruled one day by a man 
like that." 

I was at Cannes in 1886, when Miss Adele 
Grant, now Lady Essex, accepted Lord 
Cairns, and I remember how her fiance went 
off to Genoa in search of camellias, which 
were massed in a floral boat and presented 
to her. Tommy Cheyne, then a little boy, 
sat in the boat, and every one wished luck to 
another Anglo-American alliance. 

That night I danced with Miss Berens, 
and she remarked how happy Lord Cairns 
looked. Little did we dream that the blind 
god was even then pulling the strings of Fate, 



THINGS I REMEMBER 181 

and that Miss Berens, instead of Adele Grant, 
was destined to become Lady Cairns. 

In those days I often used to go over to 
Monte Carlo, which was then a camping- 
ground of the aristocracy, instead of being 
what it has now become a rendezvous for 
tourists. Monte has never appealed to my 
gambling instincts, but I have always been 
interested and amused in watching the play. 
It is frankly acknowledged that the odds are 
against the players to the extent of one and 
a half per cent, at trente-et-quarante, and 
three per cent, at roulette, and many have 
been the "systems" invented to break the 
Bank. 

Some years ago four young men determined 
to make a tour of the gambling resorts, and 
they agreed that directly one of them lost a 
hundred pounds all should stop play and 
"move on." 

At Spa, one of the friends lost a hundred 
pounds almost at once, but the other three 
won respectively fifty, eighty and two hun- 



182 THINGS I REMEMBER 

dred pounds. They made a move to Wies- 
baden, where fortune favoured them with a 
gain of three thousand pounds. On the 
second night a hundred pounds was lost, and 
true to the spirit of the compact, they pro- 
ceeded to Homburg, from thence to Ems, 
then to Baden, and finally they arrived at 
Monte Carlo. 

Three of them won small sums, but the 
fourth, who had placed ten louis at a time 
on the transversal, and guarded it by putting 
a five-franc piece on zero, won a great deal 
of money. The next night one of the party 
lost a hundred pounds, and they all returned 
to London. 

The tour resulted in an aggregate gain for 
the four friends of fifty thousand dollars; 
but, sad to relate, each of the men lost the 
whole of his gains at subsequent visits to 
the tables. 

The great gambler Garcia played his sys- 
tem at Baden in the 'sixties, and retired with 
a fortune of a million dollars, which he 



THINGS I REMEMBER 183 

eventually lost when he returned to Spain. 
Garcia would pay a thousand francs for a 
vacant place, and on one occasion the Prince 
of Monaco, who was passing through the 
rooms, stopped to speak to the gambler. 

"I shall soon win all your money," re- 
marked Garcia. 

"You may win some of that which I have 
already won," replied the Prince, with a 
shrug, ''but the more you and your system 
succeed, the greater will be the number of 
fools who will try and imitate you." 

At one time Baden-Baden was a regular 
meeting-place for the European aristocracy, 
and many royalties amused themselves with 
the roulette wheel. It is recorded that a 
country squire once remarked, as he looked 
round the rooms, "What a hateful place! I 
can't possibly stop another instant with these 
disreputable people." 

"My dear fellow," said his friend, "what 
do you mean? Why, there are three English 
Duchesses sitting at one table." 



184. THINGS I REMEMBER 

The superstitions are many to which the 
gambler pins his faith. He will play on the 
number of his room at the hotel; he will 
fancy the figures of a friend's age, and he will 
even try to tempt fortune with the number 
of a hymn. A propos of numbers, I remem- 
ber hearing a story about a friend of mine 
who was walking one day in the Casino 
Gardens, where he met an old clergyman, 
accompanied by his three daughters. 

The girls were very anxious to inspect the 
rooms, and, after much persuasion, their 
father allowed my friend to take them 
through. "And remember you are not to 
play," he added, as a parting injunction. 

When the girls arrived their guide turned 
to them. "Look here," said he, "although 
you are forbidden to play, I will put on some 
money for you. What's your age?" he asked 
the youngest one. 

"Seventeen," she answered. 

He promptly put a louis on the number 



THINGS I REMEMBER 185 

seventeen at the roulette table. The little 
ball fell into the number seventeen, and 
thirty-five louis were handed to the gambler 
by proxy. 

At the next table my friend turned to the 
second girl. "What's yours?" he asked. 

"Nineteen," she replied, and nineteen 
came up. 

"Well," said my friend to the third daugh- 
ter. "Come along, last but not least." 

"Twenty-three is mine," she answered de- 
murely. 

A louis was put on twenty-three, but un- 
fortunately twenty-six came up. The un- 
lucky third bore her disappointment like a 
philosopher, and the little party strolled 
through the grounds, my friend walking 
ahead with "sweet seventeen." 

"If I were to tell this story," said he, "I 
should be asked if my name was Ananias. 
Nobody would believe that the numbers of 
your age and your sister's came up as they 



186 THINGS I REMEMBER 

did, and if your third sister had been lucky 
I should have been told to read the story 
of George Washington, and lay it to heart." 

''But," replied the youngest of the three 
Graces, "my sister's age did come up." 

"Great Scott, it didn't!" exclaimed my 
friend. 

"Hush!" whispered the girl. "Lillie told 
you wrongly, for she is not twenty-three, but 
twenty-six!" 



CHAPTER IX 

My first meet: Neville Holt: Lady Clarendon: 
A visit to Berkeley Castle: Where King Edward 
II was murdered: Old-fashioned formality at 
Berkeley Castle: Harry Sands does not put in an 
appearance at breakfast: I explain the reason: 
House or hotel: A peeress of the old regime: 
Morning and evening prayers at Lady Galway's: 
Careless domesticity: The woman who didn't 
know her own house: The late Lady Holland: I 
take tea with her: A family spectre: Lowther 
Lodge: Singleton: A tragic visit: Sudden death 
of Lord Swansea : A night of terror : I see Coombe 
Abbey for the first time: Tranby Croft: Mrs. 
Arthur Wilson's kindness: Her superstition: The 
opal necklace: Jewels and their wearers: Mrs. 
Bradley Martin acquires some of the French 
Crown Jewels: Marie Antoinette's necklace: "A 
band of blood": The story of the missing pendant: 
The butler's secret: A thief in the night: The 
pearl snatcher : Andrew Carnegie vetoes the wear- 
ing of jewels: A relic of barbarism: Simplicity 
versus Sapphires : The late Duchess of Devonshire : 
187 



188 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Her love of money: A great social leader: An 
Ascot story: James R. Keene and the Duchess: 
A ladies' luncheon: The best for a debutante: 
"Beauty, wealth or brains?": The women's ver- 
dict: I visit Cawdor Castle: "Not angles, but 
angels": From Cawdor to Culloden: Moy Hall: 
Relics of Prince Charlie: King George V praises 
the shooting: Charlcote: The woods: The stately 
homes of England : Sacred trusts : The death-duties 
which never leave us: I must not moralize: Mrs. 
Stuyvesant Fish prevents me from sermonizing 

I WENT to my first "meet" when I was stay- 
ing with Mr. and Mrs. Mahlon Sands, who 
had taken a small house near Market Har- 
borough for the hunting. My friend the 
late Lady Clarendon had a place close by, 
and we all went over to Sir Bache Cunard's 
at Neville Holt where there was a hunt 
breakfast. 

I thought that the old grey house made 
a picturesque background for the animated 
scene, and Lady Clarendon, a charming un- 
spoilt woman, took any amount of trouble to 
enlighten my ignorance. Although it is years 



THINGS I REMEMBER 189 

ago I have never forgotten my first impres- 
sion of this typically English sight, and when- 
ever I motor over to the Cunards I invari- 
ably think of the winter morning when I 
first saw Neville Holt 

One of my most interesting country-house 
visits was when Harry Sands and I went to 
stay with the Fitzhardinges at Berkeley 
Castle. I thought it a remarkable place, 
and its historical associations made a strong 
appeal to me. 

Lord Fitzhardinge took me down a flight 
of stone steps into the gloomy dungeon where 
Edward II was murdered. "Tradition has 
it," said Lord Fitzhardinge, "that Isabella of 
France remained at the top of the steps down 
which we have just come, and listened to the 
agonized shrieks of her dying husband." I 
glanced almost apprehensively around me, for 
the dampness and the darkness seemed to 
smell of the grave. 

A good deal of old-fashioned formality 
was observed at Berkeley Castle, and the 



190 THINGS I REMEMBER 

house party assembled every morning in the 
drawing-room, where we waited until break- 
fast was announced. 

The first day after my arrival I noticed 
that my host seemed rather fidgety, and at 
last he turned to me, and said in a querulous 
tone: "Where's that friend of yours? We 
are waiting for him." I at once explained 
that Harry Sands invariably shunned break- 
fast and consoled himself with coffee in his 
room. Lord Fitzhardinge's brow cleared, 
and he said to the pompous butler, who was 
standing by the door, "All is well, Nelson — 
serve breakfast." 

I must confess to a liking for some degree 
of ceremonial; it is perhaps more comfort- 
able for guests to come down whenever they 
please and treat their host's house like an 
hotel, but I think that the dignity of home 
life somehow suffers. 

Lady Galway was one of the old regime, 
and whenever I stopped at her house I was 
conscious that she was tremendously opposed 



THINGS I REMEMBER 191 

to any laxity in manners. We used to have 
morning and evening prayers, to which all 
the servants came, and I could not help ad- 
miring the solemnity and decorum of the 
domestics, who seemed to be quite in sym- 
pathy with the religious observances of their 
mistress. 

Lady Galway had a little weakness for the 
sound of her own voice, and she occasionally 
spoke in public whenever the spirit moved 
her. 

"Ah, Mr. Martin," she used to say, "Eng- 
lish people require a tremendous amount to 
awaken their interest, and it is very difficult 
to hold their attention. However, I have 
one resource which never fails me, when- 
ever I see my audience beginning to get 
dull." 

"What is it?" I asked. 

"Well," said my hostess, "at the very first 
yawn I begin to talk about the British Navy. 
That wakes them up." 

I often remember my dignified hostess, and 



192 THINGS I REMEMBER 

think what a contrast her home presented to 
the rushing, careless domesticity of to-day. 
People take little or no interest in their sur- 
roundings; indeed, a lady of my acquaintance 
used to be so seldom at home that her people 
were nervous whenever she went out lest she 
should forget her own house, so great a 
stranger was she there. 

The late Lady Holland was another typi- 
cal grande dame of bygone days, and I re- 
member taking tea with her at Holland 
House. She had a particularly charming 
manner, and she told me a great many in- 
teresting things about her old-world resi- 
dence, including the ghost story of the first 
Lord Holland, who is supposed to come 
through a secret door at midnight to revisit 
the abode of his former life. The phantom 
carries his head in his hands, and on one 
side of the secret door are blood-stains which 
have never been effaced. 

"I shall be the last of my name to live 
here," said Lady Holland, with the suspicion 



THINGS I REMEMBER 193 

of a break in her voice. "After my death 
the house will become the property of Lord 
Ilchester and his heirs, and I do trust that 
it will always fall into reverent hands." 

Lowther Lodge lies on the direct road to 
Kensington, and my dear friends, Mr. and 
Mrs. William Lowther, resided there. Mrs. 
Lowther was "great" on early rising, and 
never allowed her daughters to stop in bed 
to breakfast after a ball; in fact, she called 
them in the morning herself. The house 
was then quite one of the show-places in 
London, and the Lowthers gave delightful 
garden-parties in their beautiful grounds, 
where occasionally outdoor plays were acted 
on the lawn. 

I have always been fortunate enough to 
receive invitations to many pleasant houses, 
but I shall never forget the tragic experience 
which befell me at Singleton when I went 
on a visit to Lord Swansea. 

I left Town one dark, rainy day, and ar- 
rived at Swansea after what seemed an in- 



194 THINGS I REMEMBER 

terminable journey, but I soon forgot the 
discomforts of travel in the warm welcome 
given me by my host and hostess. I had 
barely time to dress for dinner, which was 
a cheery meal, and our host told us a fund 
of anecdotes connected with the days when 
he was Sir Hussey Vivian. 

I was unable to sleep that night as a regu- 
lar hurricane raged outside, for the house, 
which was close to the sea, was exposed to 
the full fury of the gale. I tossed and 
turned from side to side, thinking of all the 
unpleasant things which usually assail the 
sleepless, when suddenly I heard a knock 
at my door and a terrified voice called 
out — 

"Mr. Martin! Mr. Martin! do you know 
anything about illness? Papa has been taken 
ill; do come with me and see what is the 
matter." 

I put on a dressing-gown, and directly I 
saw Miss Vivian's face I realized that some- 
thing alarming had happened. The gale 



THINGS I REMEMBER 195 

shook the house, and the draught nearly ex- 
tinguished the candle I was carrying, as I 
followed the poor girl to her father's room, 
where Lady Swansea was crouching by the 
bed, crying bitterly. 

Lord Swansea lay unconscious, and the 
butler and two footmen were doing their ut- 
most to restore animation. As I bent over my 
unfortunate host I shivered, and felt almost 
sure that he was dead. I went to the dress- 
ing-table and took a mirror, which I held 
over Lord Swansea's mouth, but the surface 
remained undimmed. 

I felt completely unnerved by the shock, 
but I managed to control my feelings and 
take Lady Swansea to her boudoir, where I 
left her with her daughter. That never-to- 
be-forgotten night had one happy result, for 
a great friendship has existed ever since be- 
tween the family and myself; indeed. Lady 
Swansea has often said that Fate must have 
led me to her at a time when all her sons 
were away from home. 



196 THINGS I REMEMBER 

The first time I visited Coombe Abbey was 
in 1884 when Lady Mary Loyd had just 
taken it for five years. "Who does this place 
belong to?" I asked. 

"To a young boy of fourteen — Lord 
Craven," replied Lady Mary. 

Little did I think that the young boy was 
destined later to marry my niece, or that I 
should ever come to look upon Coombe as a 
second home! 

I have very pleasant memories of Tranby 
Croft, and my friend, Mrs. Arthur Wilson, 
was an ideal hostess. I owe her many de- 
lightful hours spent at various places of in- 
terest, for Mrs. Wilson, who believed in let- 
ting me see all there was to be seen, drove 
me somewhere fresh every day until I had 
thoroughly explored the surrounding coun- 
try. My hostess had one superstition which 
she has shared with many others — she con- 
sidered opals very unlucky; indeed, Mrs. 
Wilson went so far as to attribute the Tranby 
Croft scandal to the baleful influence of an 



THINGS I REMEMBER 197 

opal necklace, which she never wore again 
after the Baccarat case came on. 

Speaking of precious stones reminds me 
that my countrywomen seem to have made a 
kind of corner in jewels, just as my country- 
men have been the greatest supporters of the 
picture trade! My sister-in-law, Mrs. Brad- 
ley Martin, was fortunate enough to acquire 
some wonderful gems at the sale of the 
French Crown Jewels, and she now pos- 
sesses some lovely pieces, notably a ruby 
necklace which was made for Marie An- 
toinette. 

The necklace has a history, for the story 
goes that when the unfortunate Queen first 
clasped it round her throat, she gave a shud- 
der, saying, "Take it away, I cannot bear 
this band of blood!" 

Mrs. Bradley Martin also has a beautiful 
cluster of diamond grapes which belonged to 
Louis XIV, and the grapes and their accom- 
panying pendant were always sewn on her 
gown whenever she wore them. 



198 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I remember the pendant was missed one 
night when she had dined with Lincoln, 
who was then Minister in London. There 
was a great hue and cry for the missing 
jewel, but it was never found, although the 
best detectives were asked to elucidate the 
mystery. 

One day we heard that Mr. Lincoln's but- 
ler, who had tried to commit suicide and 
was dying, wished to see a member of our 
family. The request seemed strange, but I 
regret his wish was not complied with at 
once, for the secret of my sister-in-law's miss- 
ing pendant evidently died with him. "Mrs. 
Martin's diamonds, Mrs. Martin's dia- 
monds!" was all the answer he would give 
to those who asked him what so troubled 
his mind in the hour of death. 

We were always apprehensive of another 
theft, and I think that at one time we looked 
upon every harmless stranger in the light of 
a jewel-thief. I remember once, when my 
brother and his wife were going to Balma- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 199 

caan they stayed in Edinburgh for the night, 
and Mrs. Martin suddenly awoke to find her 
husband struggling with a man. She man- 
aged to ring the bell, and soon the room 
was full of people who wondered what on 
earth had happened. The proprietor ac- 
cepted the man's explanation that he had 
mistaken the room, but my brother was con- 
vinced that it was a fabrication, and that the 
intruder was a thief who had followed them 
from Town. 

After this mysterious adventure Mrs. Mar- 
tin nearly lost her pearls in Paris. She was 
wearing a handsome rope of pearls, as she 
sat in her carriage on the Boulevard, when 
a hand suddenly came through the window 
and snatched at them. My brother did not 
lose his presence of mind, but struck up the 
hand of the thief, who relinquished his hold 
and made good his escape. 

The possession of valuable jewels causes a 
certain amount of anxiety, and I believe the 
majority of Mrs. Martin's now spend most of 



200 THINGS I REMEMBER 

their time at the bank. Personally I am in- 
clined to share Mr. Andrew Carnegie's opin- 
ion that jewel-wearing is a relic of barbarism, 
and that women are not at their best when 
they load themselves with diamonds. But 
Andrew Carnegie will never induce women 
to think that simplicity becomes them better 
than sapphires, or that a dainty ribbon is 
better than a riviere of diamonds. I think 
that the cold glitter of precious stones liter- 
ally fascinates some women, and exercises a 
kind of spell over them. I have known cases 
where certain jewels have become the mas- 
ters of their wearers, and others where ex- 
cessive envy of certain ornaments has at last 
ended in theft and disgrace. ''Dumb jewels 
often, in their silent kind, more quick than 
words, do move a woman's mind." Never 
were truer lines written! 

But I fear that my discourse on jewels has 
made me forget some of my friends in Lon- 
don. The late Duchess of Devonshire, then 
Louise Duchess of Manchester, was one of 



THINGS I REMEMBER 201 

the best-known figures in society when I first 
came to England; in fact, her social power 
lasted until her death. 

I cannot say that I cared much for the 
"Double Duchess"; she was a wonderful 
hostess and a great personality, but I think 
she was too much dominated by her love of 
money. I remember James R. Keene (the 
owner of Foxhall) telling me how he once 
circumvented the Duchess of Ascot. He 
chanced to see her bearing down in his di- 
rection, and he at once divined that she had 
the intention of asking him to put a large 
sum of money on a horse for her. James 
knew the lady of old, but he advanced to 
meet her with a smile. "My dear Duchess," 
he said effusively, "I've thought of you and 
put just enough on my horse to interest 
you!" 

Some years ago when the Duchess gave a 
ladies' luncheon at Devonshire House, she 
suddenly said to her guests, "Now I want to 
know your opinion as to what is most useful 



202 THINGS I REMEMBER 

to a debutante. Is she best equipped with 
beauty, wealth, or brains?" 

Each lady present wrote her opinion on a 
slip of paper, folded it, and put it on a tray 
which was handed round. When the Duchess 
counted the replies she found that ''Brains" 
had an overwhelming majority, and most 
people will be inclined, I think, to agree with 
the verdict of the ladies. 

Another interesting visit was to Cawdor 
Castle, when I drove over with some friends 
from Balmacaan to see the Dowager Lady 
Cawdor, whom I knew very well. Although 
the castle has no connection with the historic 
murder of Duncan, it is a very interesting old 
place, well worth seeing, but I think the most 
beautiful thing about Cawdor is the garden, 
which seems like a many-coloured banner 
lying round the old grey walls. Lady Caw- 
dor was very deaf, so we were taken over the 
place by her young nephews, who showed 
us where, in warlike times, melted lead was 
poured over the assailants of the castle. There 



THINGS I REMEMBER 203 

are the remains of a wonderful oak which is 
fenced round in a cellar, and tradition states 
that when the oak disappears the family will 
become extinct 

We duly admired the wonderful tapestries, 
but the boys told us that the public were no 
longer permitted to see the castle, as the 
excursionists had wrought much damage by 
their vandalistic habit of scratching names 
on the walls. "We used sometimes to paint 
the walls ourselves," said Ian Campbell, "for 
whenever nervous people stopped here we 
gave them plenty of skulls and bats in phos- 
phorus paint, and some were pretty well 
scared out of their wits after they got into 
bed." 

I was a little disappointed to find that my 
cherished romance of Cawdor was completely 
destroyed, but my hostess told me that Dun- 
can's castle had long since disappeared, and 
that the site of it was unknown. The present 
building only dates from the time of James 
IV of Scotland. 



204 THINGS I REMEMBER 

As Lady Cawdor was deaf, I found it 
rather difficult to carry on a conversation 
with her, although it was delightful to hear 
her describe the beauties of her home. "I 
think your grandchild is an angel," I said 
to her once, as I admired the lovely child, 
but Lady Cawdor seemed quite put out. 
''Oh, Mr. Martin, I don't agree with you, 
fancy you saying that the darling is all an- 
gles." Naturally I tried to explain that I 
had said nothing of the kind, but I was 
careful not to pay any more compliments 
after that. 

From Cawdor we went to Culloden Field, 
and called on the Mackintosh at Moy Hall, 
a lovely stone-built castle on a loch sur- 
rounded by lonely hills. The Mackintosh 
possesses many relics of Prince Charlie which 
are religiously preserved; he is a delightful 
host, and King George, who often goes to 
Moy, has been known to say that he gets 
some of the finest shooting there. 

Charlcote was another place, with Shake- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 205 

spearian associations, which greatly appealed 
to me, and whenever I stayed there I loved 
to roam in the woods where the Bard had 
acquired a taste for stolen venison; the house 
is not large, but it is perfectly charming, 
and the Avon, which flows past the lawn, 
adds to the beauty of the grounds. 

These delightful homes of England have 
always interested me, and I could write 
pages on what I consider the duties of their 
owners. To my mind ancestral properties 
should be regarded as a sacred trust, and not 
entirely as a source of income; they ought 
to be handed down as much as possible free 
from debt, although, of course, they can 
never be free from death-duties. But I must 
not moralize, and I must remember what 
Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish once said to me at 
dinner: ''Don't you get bored dining out 
night after night?" she remarked. "What's 
the use of it?" 

"Well," said I, "the use of it is that we 
can get fresh thoughts from one another." 



206 THINGS I REMEMBER 

"Perhaps," answered Mrs. Fish; "but, 
Fred Martin, Til just tell you right away 
that I didn't come here to listen to one of 
your sermons." 



CHAPTER X 

The advent of the American woman in English 
society: How the Invasion came about: Miss Je- 
rome becomes Lady Randolph Churchill: The 
Stevens-Paget alliance: The American heiress in 
fiction: An impossible character: The Girl from 
the Golden West: Then and now: The education 
of an heiress: A strenuous life: The Invasion 
viewed with alarm by Society: A new influence: 
The American's progress: The heiress realizes her 
own value: The open-handed daughters of Lib- 
erty: The uses of advertisement: A good invest- 
ment: Lady Paget: The belle of Newport: An 
ambitious mother: A season in London: The late 
King as a matchmaker: Mr. Paget proposes: He 
is refused: He proposes a second time: Minnie 
Stevens becomes Mrs. Paget: A leading hostess: 
Lady Paget 's personality : Her pluck : Seven opera- 
tions ! : A society woman's wish : Helen Beckwith : 
Her marriage with the Hon, Dudley Leigh: 
"Once a friend, always a friend": Lady Naylor- 
Leyland: Her beauty: Goethe's Margaret: How 
American women adapt themselves to new condi- 
tions: Are they ever home-sick?: Mrs. George 
207 



208 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Keppel recognizes American influence : The strong- 
hold of dukedom: Lesser lights: The youngest 
American brides: Consuelo Duchess of Manches- 
ter: A penniless girl: Her poverty: She entertains 
the late King at dinner: Where the dishes came 
from: Mrs. Ronalds: The story of the necklace: 
Madame Waddington : She mixes with the crowd : 
A happy answer: The late Lady Curzon: Her 
role at Newport: A great lady 

The advent of the American woman in Eng- 
lish Society was almost unheard of before 
the Civil War, and this was due to the fact 
that up to that time American Society was a 
negligible quantity. But a few years later a 
change set in, and New York was obliged to 
face the fact that it must adopt a more met- 
ropolitan tone. From the shores of the 
Pacific, from the banks of the Monongahela, 
and from the great plains of the West and 
Middle East came millionaires with their 
wives and children who were destined to 
change the old order into something entirely 
new. The lines of hide-bound convention 
were speedily broken down, new blood was 



THINGS I REMEMBER 209 

infused into feeble stock, and as a result 
Venus Victrix, dowered with loveliness and 
dollars, set forth to conquer England. 

The great Invasion began a generation ago, 
when Miss Jerome, of New York, married 
Lord Randolph Churchill, a wedding which 
may be said to have set the fashion for simi- 
lar alliances. Miss Minnie Stevens became 
the wife of Lord Alfred Paget's son, Miss 
Beckwith married the eldest son of Lord 
Leigh, the beautiful Miss Mary Leiter be- 
came Lady Curzon, and Mr. Joseph Cham- 
berlain took Miss Endicott of Boston for his 
second wife. 

The American heiress has, until recently, 
been regarded as a source of humour by 
novelists and playwrights. We are all fa- 
miliar with the heroine of the "Fuchsia 
Leach" type and the impossible parents who 
follow in their daughter's triumphal prog- 
ress; we know her twang and solecisms of 
old, and we have sympathized with the noble 
families upon whose corns she has so ruth- 



210 THINGS I REMEMBER 

lessly trodden in her social ascent. But has 
this ever been a true picture? There may 
have been some justification for the character- 
drawing in the past, but the raw material is 
non-existent now in families who aspire to 
social greatness, and England only sees the 
finished product. The girl from the golden 
West who came straight to Mayfair, with a 
few cowboy admirers lurking in the back- 
ground, and shocked her aristocratic chaperon 
at every turn, is now looked upon as pre- 
historic or as extinct as the Dodo. 

An American girl's debut is almost pre- 
ordained, for her destiny has been arranged 
for her, and her education commences from 
the day of her birth. I sometimes pity the girl 
who is subjected to the endless routine which 
is supposed to fit her for a position in Ameri- 
can Society, or to qualify her for the British 
peerage. There are daily lessons in riding, 
driving, all kinds of physical culture, and 
from morning until evening she learns afresh 
something physically or mentally. It is a 



THINGS I REMEMBER 211 

strenuous life, not unlike a royal education, 
and only the pupil's natural vivacity prevents 
her from becoming artificial. 

This training has done much to remove 
the distrust which the advent of young 
America formerly created in England. The 
older circles then looked askance upon the 
forceful elements in their midst, and the 
conservative temperament which dislikes any 
innovation fought hard against the new- 
comers. But this did not last long, for 
nothing could have successfully withstood 
these charming invaders, whose luxury and 
extravagance were almost bewildering. The 
new influence made itself felt at once, and 
now after a generation it has become a 
power. 

The American woman starts her social 
progress unhampered by caste and tradition. 
She takes people as she finds them — not on 
the valuation of their ancestors; she is a per- 
son of spirit, she has her own ideas, and she 
is worldly to the tips of her fingers. She 



212 THINGS I REMEMBER 

realizes her own value; she knows what she 
wants in exchange for it, and she makes up 
her mind that once she has obtained her am- 
bition she will play her part to perfection. 
The heiress makes no secret of her admiration 
for a title; she knows that her money will 
work wonders, and often some neglected 
stately home has looked in pride again under 
her benign influence. 

These daughters of Liberty are generous. 
They spend their money lavishly, but they 
spend it with discrimination, and, if their 
manner of doing so is occasionally a little 
blatant, surely, as the saying has it, much can 
be forgiven those who give much. They be- 
lieve in the value of advertisement, they like 
to see society paragraphs about their jewels 
and their gowns; and they love to know that 
all the world, at the expenditure of a penny, 
may read about their vast improvements on 
their husband's estates. To them it repre- 
sents business, not snobbishness, and they re- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 213 

gard a position in the peerage much as other 
people look upon an investment, for in both 
cases the idea is that they will become pay- 
ing concerns. 

I think that Lady Paget represents the best 
Anglo-American type. I remember her well 
when, as Minnie Stevens, she was the Belle of 
Newport. All the handsomest men adored 
her, and Fred May, from Baltimore, seemed 
to be the favoured suitor until her worldly 
mother intimated to him that she had other 
views for her daughter. 

Following Newport came a season in New 
York, and afterwards Mrs. Stevens carried 
Minnie off to London. The late King, who 
was then Prince of Wales, wished to arrange 
a match between her and Arthur Paget, but 
when Arthur first proposed Miss Stevens re- 
fused him. After that they met constantly in 
society, and then Mr. Paget determined to try 
again. 

"When I first asked you to marry me," he 



214 THINGS I REMEMBER 

is reported to have said, "my proposal came 
from my head. Now it comes from my 
heart." 

Minnie Stevens v^as married from Thomas's 
Hotel, and she at once took her place as a 
leading hostess. Her house at 3 Halkin 
Street became known as one of the smartest 
houses in Town, and the late King was a con- 
stant visitor there. I think Lady Paget (as 
she is now) possesses a most beautiful dis- 
position, and she certainly showed almost su- 
perhuman fortitude during her long illness 
when she had seven operations. I remember 
once going to see her after her accident, and 
found her reading a number of letters of 
condolence which had just arrived. Some of 
them were from crowned heads, but Lady 
Paget seemed especially charmed with the 
contents of a dirty little note she had just 
opened. "Oh, Fred," said she, "this letter has 
given me such pleasure. It is from my wash- 
erwoman, and I don't think anything has 



THINGS I REMEMBER 215 

delighted me more than that she should have 
thought of me." 

Miss Helen Beckwith was a fair American 
who married the Hon. Dudley Leigh, and 
became the chatelaine of Stoneleigh Abbey. 
Her father was appointed Commissioner of 
the Paris Exhibiton, and the Emperor and 
Empress made much of the beautiful girl and 
her sisters, who returned to America loaded 
with Imperial souvenirs. 

After her mother's death Helen received 
countless offers of marriage, but Mr. Beck- 
with would not allow her to accept any of 
them. "I've never met the man who is good 
enough for her," said he. Miss Beckwith 
afterwards went abroad with my brother 
Bradley and his wife, and during a visit to 
Balmacaan she met her future husband. 

I often stayed at Stoneleigh Abbey with 
the Leighs. I remember that the room there 
once occupied by Queen Victoria and the 
Prince Consort was kept unaltered, and that 



216 THINGS I REMEMBER 

there was also an interesting portrait of a lady 
who arrived to spend the afternoon and 
stayed for forty years. Helen Leigh died, 
greatly mourned, after a few days' illness; 
she possessed a splendidly loyal nature, and, 
indeed, her motto was, "Once a friend, always 
a friend." 

Lady Naylor-Leyland's marriage was an- 
other triumph for feminine America. I first 
met Miss Chamberlain (as she was then) at 
a dinner given by Mrs. Isaac Bell one Sunday 
evening. 

"Don't disappoint me," said Mrs. Bell, "for 
I've the loveliest young girl coming that 
you've ever seen," and I remember that when 
the butler announced "Miss Chamberlain" 
I saw my ideal of Goethe's "Margaret." 
Rarely, if ever, had I seen such a picture of 
virginal sweetness as she presented, and her 
appearance did not belie her, for Jeanie 
Chamberlain was charming and quite un- 
spoilt by the world. 

After her debut, Mrs. Chamberlain took 



THINGS I REMEMBER 217 

her daughter to England, and presented her- 
self with a letter of introduction to Lady 
Paget, who at once arranged a dinner to meet 
the Prince of Wales. After her marriage to 
Sir Herbert Naylor-Leyland, Jeanie became 
a great hostess; the late King Edward hon- 
oured her with his friendship until the time 
of his death; and there are few people in 
Society who possess the tact and common- 
sense of Lady Naylor-Leyland. 

It is certainly remarkable how American 
women adapt themselves to the conditions of 
a new life in a new country. If some of them 
regret New York they are wise enough not 
to show home-sickness in the land of their 
adoption, but there are some ladies who seem 
to forget their nationality, notably Lady 
Arthur Butler, who has never revisited Amer- 
ica since her marriage. 

Mrs. George Keppel has always recognized 
the influence of American women on English 
Society; she has very wisely taken the fullest 
advantage of it, and at her entertainments one 



218 THINGS I REMEMBER 

meets the best type of Americans. Mrs. Hwfa 
Williams was another hostess who welcomed 
the invasion, and felt the magnetic power and 
freshness wielded by the new regime. 

Even the stronghold of dukedom has yield- 
ed to the besieging force! A Vanderbilt 
heiress captured the historic house of Marl- 
borough, Miss May Goelet carried her wealth 
and herself north of the Tweed as Duchess 
of Roxburgh, and there have been two Amer- 
ican Duchesses of Manchester. As for other 
aristocratic victories, the names now fill a 
long list. My niece Cornelia was only six- 
teen when she married the Earl of Craven, 
and I think that she and Miss Vanderbilt 
must have been the youngest American girls 
to marry into the peerage. 

And how do these women influence Soci- 
ety? They influence the social world for 
many reasons: they are past-mistresses of the 
art of entertaining; they are tactful, adaptive, 
broad-minded, and they know to a fraction 
the value of money. They take no chances, 



THINGS I REMEMBER 219 

their plan of campaign is always swift and 
effective, and they comprise in themselves the 
essence of the spirit of modernity. 

Just as marriage with favourites of the 
stage often infuses healthy plebeian blood into 
some deteriorated aristocratic stock, so mar- 
riage with American women infuses vitality, 
personality, beauty and money into the peer- 
age, although money is not always the factor 
in the case. 

The late Duchess of Manchester, Consuelo, 
of immortal memory, was a penniless girl 
when she married the Duke, but wherever she 
went she attracted rich and poor alike, solely 
through her fascinating personality. She was 
a charming woman, and I remember how she 
used to laugh over incidents in her early mar- 
ried life when she was excessively hard up. 
Consuelo told me that on one occasion when 
the late King dined with her, the dinner was 
practically provided by her friends, who con- 
tributed plats for the occasion. H.R.H. ex- 
pressed himself as delighted with the dinner. 



220 THINGS I REMEMBER 

"And what is more," he added, with a smile, 
**I know exactly where all the dishes come 
from, for each lady has sent the one I always 
like served when I dine at her house." 

Consuelo was a wonderful raconteuse, and 
the present Duke of Manchester inherits his 
mother's gift, for I think I have never heard 
any one tell stories, especially negro ones, 
better than he does. His wife is an exceed- 
ingly nice woman, and the informal dances 
at her house in Grosvenor Square always pos- 
sess the merit of originality. 

Mrs. Ronalds may be said to have con- 
quered English Society alone and unaided. 
She has always gathered together the best 
people in the social world, and I can never 
forget her kindness to me in my younger days. 
I first met Sir Arthur Sullivan at her house, 
and once remarked to him, "It must be a great 
comfort to see your works appreciated in your 
life-time?" "It is," replied Sir Arthur, "for 
I have lived long enough to see that certain 
people may have stones flung at them when 



THINGS I REMEMBER 221 

they are alive, and stones put up for them 
after they are dead." 

Mrs. Ronalds had a most beautiful voice, 
and the story goes that once her singing so 
moved a lady from the States that she left 
her seat and clasped her valuable necklace 
round the singer's throat, exclaiming, as she 
did so, "Pray, pray accept this as a tribute to 
your divine voice!" 

But with the morning came cold reflection, 
and the power of song, so potent on the pre- 
ceding night, no longer held the impulsive 
donor in thrall. Sad to relate, she regretted 
her gift, and at last she decided to go round 
and see Mrs. Ronalds. The lady wasted no 
time in beating about the bush. "My dear," 
she said, "I'm sorry, but I made a mistake in 
giving you that necklace. Will you return it, 
and accept the excuse that I was carried away 
by your exquisite singing?" 

"What a pity," answered Mrs. Ronalds, 
"for the necklace has been carried away, too. 
It's now in my safe at the bank." 



222 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I cannot bring my recollections of Anglo- 
American hostesses to a close without men- 
tioning Madame Waddington, who before 
her marriage was Miss King of New York. 
She is a most remarkable woman, and her 
husband represented France for twelve years 
at the Court of St. James'. Madame Wad- 
dington knows the secret of popularity, and 
she is always ready to try a new experience. 
I remember once, when the German Emperor 
visited England, that she was very anxious to 
learn the opinion of the man in the street, and 
to see whether the cheers of the people were 
genuine or not. She accordingly stood in the 
crowd to watch the procession pass, and nat- 
urally imagined that she would be unnoticed. 

At dinner that night the Emperor turned to 
her, "Oh, Madame Waddington," he said. "I 
saw you in the crowd to-day." 

"Did you, your Majesty," she replied, no 
whit taken aback; "I was there because I 
wanted to share the people's appreciation of 
you." 



THINGS I REMEMBER 223 

The arrows of age have missed Madame 
Waddington, who still retains all her delight- 
ful personality. Like Mrs. Griswold Gray, 
she refuses to allow herself to become old, and 
she always says that the best recipe for 
youth is to keep oneself in touch with the 
times. 

I always think of the passing of Lady 
Curzon with deep regret. I knew her first as 
Miss Mary Leiter, when all the doors of 
Newport were opened to her by reason of her 
sweet personality, and I thought her role of 
the modest, graceful girl carried her far. The 
Leiters in those days had money, but no in- 
fluence, and their social success later was 
chiefly owing to Mary. She never forgot her 
family, for she did everything to further their 
interests, and she was mainly responsible 
for her sister Daisy's marriage with Lord 
Suffolk. 

When I heard of her wonderful success In 
India, and read accounts of the pomp and 
ceremonial with which, as Vicereine, she was 



224 THINGS I REMEMBER 

surrounded, I felt proud to think that Lady 
Curzon came from my country. She was a 
charming woman, and, better still, a good 
one. The breath of scandal never sullied her 
fair name; she had no enemies and possessed 
countless friends. She was a good daughter, 
a good wife, and a devoted mother. Such 
was Mary Curzon, one of those noble women, 
who, while they adorn this world, make us 
think that the angels are not all in Heaven. 



CHAPTER XI 

William Gillett: The Bachelors' Club: The 
Clearing House System: Merit is passed over: 
Mr. Gillett's radium parties: Charles Dalison: A 
beau of the seventies: The end of a worldly life: 
The Whitelaw Reids: A hospitable ambassador: 
Mr. Choate: His wit: "Just start cackling, 
madam": The late Bradley Martin and his con- 
nection with Balmacaan : My brother rents Lake- 
field: The ghost there: Bradley takes over Bal- 
macaan from Henry AUsop: A beautiful home: 
The shores of Loch Ness : Our love for Scotland : 
The joy of life: Another ghost: The spectral 
coach: Lord Lovat's funeral: Unlimited whisky: 
A two-mile walk: Lady Burton and the late King: 
"One thing needful" : Edward VII decorates Lord 
Brougham's butler: Our theatrical and literary 
neighbours: Sir Henry Irving: The Terrys: Mrs. 
Lewis lets her cottage to Barrie: Sir James and 
the donkey: His love of children: His retiring 
disposition: Memories of Bradley: The best of 
brothers: Speaking in public: I go down to the 
East End : An audience at Whitechapel 
225 



226 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Mr. William Gillett has been one of the 
best-known figures in London Society for 
many years, and he will possess an enduring 
monument in the Bachelors' Club, which he 
founded in conjunction with the late Duke of 
Albany and Augustus Lumley. 

He has not always led the existence which 
is his to-day. William Gillett possesses re- 
markable business capacity, and the Clearing 
House System first originated in his active 
mind. I think my friend expected to be 
created a baronet in connection with this, but, 
as is often the case, his merit was passed over 
and some one less worthy received the honour. 
However, he can console himself by reflecting 
that in these days of strange peerages, baro- 
netcies and knighthoods it is perhaps better 
to go to one's grave as a distinguished com- 
moner. 

I do not think any one in the social world 
has ever led such a crowded life as William 
Gillett. He attends all the smartest wed- 
dings; he is seen at charitable functions, 




L-_. 



Mr. William Gillett (on left), Mrs. Bradley Martin and Count Kergorley 
(in carriage), at Balmacaan 



THINGS I REMEMBER 227 

where he lavishly helps whatever may be the 
cause; he stays at the best country houses, and 
even at his age he manages to put in an ap- 
pearance at four dances a night. I once asked 
him the reason why he put himself in the way 
of being so fatigued, and received the char- 
acteristic reply, "I go to dances because I love 
them." 

I remember saying to him during a quiet 
hour at Balmacaan, my brother Bradley's 
place near Inverness, "Gillett, what do you 
think of Death?" He looked at me for an 
instant without speaking and then answered 
in his curiously slow way, "What do I think 
of Death? Well, Martin, I think of it as a 
long, peaceful sleep. I have always tried 
never to do any one harm, I've endeavoured 
to spend my money with justice, and I think 
I've earned my rest." 

I was much impressed by his words, for 
they revealed the speaker in a new light. I 
used to think that Gillett shared Mrs. Ayers' 
horror of death, and I was interested to learn 



228 THINGS I REMEMBER 

that one who seemed so much in love with 
life looked forward to the grave as a well- 
earned rest. 

Certain facetious people have made fun of 
William Gillett's radium parties, and sneered 
at his Excelsior reunions; others have laughed 
about the fact that most of his fair friends 
have a title, and suggested that his paradise 
will be one of "Peri"esses, but my friend 
treats all such attacks with good-natured in- 
difference; in fact, I think he is secretly 
amused at the comments. But there are those 
who, like myself, respect the real William 
Gillett, and I must place on record that he 
never lets his left hand know what his right 
hand gives. His heart is the real right thing, 
and he is a generous giver in the cause of 
charity. 

I remember another Society man who re- 
sembled Mr. Gillett in many ways. This 
was Charles Dalison, who was a great social 
light in the 'seventies and 'eighties. He was 
invited everywhere, and always used to spend 



THINGS I REMEMBER 229 

six weeks in Scotland with Lord and Lady 
Burton. But as old age approached Mr. 
Dalison's invitations began to decline, and, 
as he had been accustomed to have every day 
booked up for weeks ahead, he felt his altered 
positon very keenly. 

Mr. Dalison lived just off Sloane Square, 
and one evening, in the height of the Season, 
he realized the dreadful fact that he had not 
been asked anywhere. This was a severe blow 
to one who looked upon Society as the breath 
of his nostrils, and the old man, who was too 
proud to go and sit in his Club, wandered into 
the park, where he sat alone in the moon- 
light. From his chair he could hear the 
carriages as they passed and repassed, taking 
people to dinners and balls, for at this hour 
London was in her most seductive mood. He 
could almost smell the roses on the staircases, 
and hear the soft strains of music in the 
ballrooms; he fancied he saw the beautiful 
wearers of beautiful jewels, and the cold eyes 
of the stars seemed to mock at his misery. 



230 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Poor forgotten old man! At last kindly 
sleep closed his eyes, and perhaps he dreamt 
happily. But slumber brought him a true 
friend, for Death had followed her, and when 
the sleeper woke his night's vigil resulted in 
an attack of pneumonia, which carried him 
off in a few days. What a subject for a 
master of irony, and what a lesson it 
conveys ! 

Whenever I write on the subject of hos- 
pitality I am often reminded that we Ameri- 
cans owe a tremendous debt of gratitude to 
the Whitelaw Reids for their entertainments 
at Dorchester House. The late Ambassador 
was an ideal representative of the New 
World, and his wife and daughter seconded 
him with wonderful success. 

I shall never forget the magnificent ball 
given at Dorchester House, at the time of the 
late King's Coronation, which was attended 
by all the members of the royal family. It 
was a splendid sight, but what most appealed 
to me was the strong sympathy which seemed 



THINGS I REMEMBER 231 

to exist between America and the Mother 
Country. 

I think that Mr. Choate was one of our 
ablest ambassadors; every one liked him and 
his dry humour, and I always remember his 
reply to an affected, talkative woman at a 
country house. The fair lady wa^gassing 
him an egg, when suddenly she let it fall. 
*'0h dear, dear Mr. Choate, I've dropped an 
egg; whatever shall I do?" she exclaimed. 

"Do?" replied Choate, with an impassive 
expression, "why just start cackling, madam." 

I believe that the name of my dear brother 
Bradley is very much associated with Bal- 
macaan, where he spent so many happy years! 
Now, alas! that he is gone, the place possesses 
sorrowful memories for us, and it will never 
seem the same to me. 

In February, 1881, Mrs. Bradley Martin's 
father died, and she came to England with 
her mother and her husband. For some time 
they stayed quietly at Claridge's, and then left 
for Scotland. One day at Inverness my 



232 THINGS I REMEMBER 

brother went into a gunmaker's shop, and 
asked the man if he knew where a little good 
shooting could be obtained. "Why, sir," said 
the man, "Lord Seafield has just died, and I 
believe that the shooting over the Balmacaan 
estate is to let, and that you can put up at 
the inn at Glen Urquhart." 

Bradley at once interviewed the agent, with 
the result that he took up his quarters at the 
inn with his wife and her mother, and had a 
very good time, as there was nothing he liked 
better than shooting. The keen, cold air suit- 
ed Mrs. Martin, and when they returned to 
America Bradley decided to make an offer 
for Balmacaan the next year. Unfortunately 
for my brother, Henry Allsop had secured a 
three years' lease of the shooting; he had, 
therefore, to content himself with renting 
Lakefield, which is close to Balmacaan, but 
Sir Henry Allsop very kindly allowed 
Bradley to have the grouse moors. 

I was then preparing to start with Harry 
Sands for a trip round the world, but I 



THINGS I REMEMBER 233 

changed my mind, and went up to Scotland 
with my brother and his family. Lakefield 
is a quaint old house, and, as its name implies, 
it is situated close to a lake. The last owner 
had died in tragic circumstances, and if 
houses are ever haunted Lakefield certainly 
was. We used to hear most weird noises 
when all was quiet at night; heavy footsteps 
passed along the corridors and often we heard 
the sound of a body being dragged down the 
staircase. Luckily for us the ghost remained 
invisible, although it certainly made its pres- 
ence felt, but at last we came to regard the 
noises with absolute equanimity. 

We returned to America that autumn, and 
later Henry Allsop offered the lease of Bal- 
macaan to my brother, who was overjoyed to 
secure it, for he was never so happy as when 
in the Highlands. 

Balmacaan is a large ivy-covered stone 
house built in front of the original shooting- 
box. The surroundings are beautiful; the 
estate extends for nineteen miles along Loch 



234 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Ness; it has for a background the solemn hills 
with extensive deer forests and wild moor- 
land, where you can get an uninterrupted 
view for twelve miles straight across to 
Beaufort Castle. 

How we have always loved Scotland! I 
think there is nothing so beautiful as the 
lonely places where the silence is unbroken 
save for the occasional whirr of wings and 
the hoarse cry of the grouse. In summer the 
clear air quivers with the heat; the heather 
wraps the moors in purple, and on all sides 
one hears the melody of falling water. Does 
any repast ever seem so good as when taken 
amid such surroundings? And does not life 
seem a better thing than it does in the allur- 
ing town? 

Balmacaan, like Lakefield, has its invisible 
ghost, and a restless Lady Seafield is said to 
drive about in her spectral coach. Every one 
who has stopped at the house has heard the 
horses pull up at the door, and although 
many explanations have been proffered as to 



THINGS I REMEMBER 235 

the real cause, the mystery has never been 
satisfactorily solved. 

I remember that I saw my first Scotch 
funeral when I was staying at Balmacaan, 
and it was a very impressive ceremony. 

Mr. W. K. Vanderbilt had rented Beaufort 
Castle, but when the news came that Lord 
Lovat, the owner, was dead, Mr. Vanderbilt 
at once placed the castle at the temporary 
disposal of the family. 

My brother, his son, Howard and myself 
were asked to the funeral, and when we ar- 
rived at Beaufort we found that Lord Lovat's 
coffin had been put in the outer hall. It was 
covered with the late peer's robes; his coro- 
net was upon it, and at the head of the coffin 
stood the present Lord Lovat, who was then 
a boy of fourteen. 

The mourners assembled in the great hall, 
a wonderful room, full of family portraits, 
armour and trophies of the chase; here we 
had luncheon, and I remember there seemed 
to be an unlimited supply of whisky and 



236 THINGS I REMEMBER 

spiced wine. After the meal was over we 
started to walk the two miles to the tiny 
Roman Catholic Church where the committal 
service took place. It was a fine, cold day, 
and as we passed along the pipers' lament 
fell on the air with its melancholy wail. The 
church was crammed to suffocation, and the 
Dowager Lady Lovat sat hidden from view 
in the choir loft. 

We have made many friendships during 
the years we have spent in Scotland, and the 
Lovats, Frazers and Macintoshes always come 
to the covert shoots at Balmacaan. Lady 
Burton is another charming neighbour, and 
she once told mc an amusing incident which 
occurred when the late King Edward stayed 
at Glenquoich. ^'I hope. Sir, that you have 
found everything to your liking?" she said to 
the royal visitor. "Yes," answered the King; 
"but, if I may make a suggestion, one little 
thing would add greatly to the comfort of 
your guests." 

"Oh, Sir . . . what can it be?" 




u 



THINGS I REMEMBER 237 

"Well, Lady Burton," said H.M., "the one 
thing needful is a hook on the bath-room 
door." 

How charming King Edward was! Lord 
Brougham once told me how the late sov- 
ereign decorated his butler, an old man who 
had been with the family for many years. He 
was a valued and privileged servant, and 
some one had evidently mentioned this to 
H.M., for just before he was leaving the 
King took out a decoration and pinned it on 
the lapel of the butler's coat, complimenting 
him as he did so on the length of his service. 
Another "trivial" incident perhaps, but I 
think it is worth recording. 

I must not forget to mention that we have 
had distinguished members of the theatrical 
and literary world for neighbours. Lady Sea- 
field had given a cottage on the estate to Mr. 
Lewis, the husband of Kate Terry, and one 
year Sir Henry Irving came to stop there. 
Irving dined at Balmacaan, and I also made 
the acquaintance of Miss Ellen Terry and her 



238 THINGS I REMEMBER 

sisters Marion and Kate. After Mrs. Lewis 
gave up the cottage, Sir James Barrie took 
it, and we often used to meet the famous 
novelist, pipe in mouth, leading a donkey, 
which was usually ridden by one of the many 
children staying at his house. 

I believe that What Every Woman Knows 
was written about this time. Our neighbour 
was always willing to assist at the entertain- 
ments we got up for the tenants, but he could 
never be induced to lunch or dine with us. 

The happiest moment in my life at Bal- 
macaan was one night last autumn when my 
brother, in addressing a meeting, gave his 
whole-hearted support to my proposals. His 
warm words of appreciation filled my heart 
to overflowing, and as we walked home I said 
to him, "This evening has been a happy one 
for me, as I know that you are now in sym- 
pathy with my public schemes." Perhaps I 
should not chronicle this seemingly small in- 
cident, but Bradley was the best of brothers, 
and his appreciation was a great thing to me. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 239 

This mention of speaking in public reminds 
me of the occasion when I went down to 
Whitechapel to address a big meeting of the 
unemployed. It was nervous work, and I 
felt at once that the audience resented the 
presence of my secretary, who was on the 
platform. 

''Mr. Parsons," I whispered, "I think you'd 
better leave me, for I know I must be one 
with them." I waited until I heard my car 
drive away, and then looked at the cold, hard 
faces before me, each of which seemed to ask, 
'Why have you come down here?" The 
Chairman then introduced me as an Ameri- 
can who wanted to talk to them, and I rose, 
feeling very uncertain about my reception. 

I told the men that the Land over the Sea 
called for workers. "Don't go to the hearts 
of the cities," I said, "let mother earth take 
you in her keeping, you'll be safer there than 
in a wilderness of bricks and mortar." I 
spoke for an hour, and I wondered whether 



240 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I had made any impression on the starving, 
sullen crowd. 

''Does yer object to be questioned, guv'- 
nor?" cried a voice. 

"Certainly not," I answered, "provided I'm 
not asked to discuss politics." 

I waited a few seconds, and then a man got 
up. He was a sallow individual of thirty, 
and Socialist was written upon every feature. 
"Mr. Martin," he began, "I'll just tell you 
I'm chairman of a club down here, and I 
came to upset you if I could. Now I'll own 
up that my idea of you was wrong. You're 
all right." 

The candid speaker then sat down amid 
applause, and others got up and questioned 
me about the possibilities of America until I 
felt like a live emigration office. When I 
quitted the hall the audience poured into the 
street after me, and I left Whitechapel with 
many hearty invitations to come back again. 



CHAPTER XII 

The lure of travel: Its value as an education: 
A six months' tour or six years at college?: My 
first glimpse of Spain: Tarifa: A Moorish hill 
town: The old fortress: A Spartan father: By 
moonlight to Begar: Cleanly Cadiz: Madrid: 
The usual sight-seeing : June in Norway : Homely 
incidents: Cold water is thrown on Howard's 
efforts to explain: Towels at last are forthcom- 
ing: The land of untrodden ways: Trippers in 
Switzerland: A walking tour in the Tyrol: A 
peaceful spot: "Surely we must be very near 
Heaven?": "You must climb higher": I am mis- 
taken for an Archduke: Wasted ammunition: 
We journey to the Holy Land: Illness at Bey- 
rout: The last Emperor of Brazil comes to see 
me: The sight which gave me life: "The Stars 
and Stripes": Round the world with Harry Sands: 
San Francisco: The Duke of Atholl: Japan: I 
see Fusiyama: The magic of the East: We go up- 
country: Then and now: Silent souvenirs: The 
fragrance of vanished summers: The Sultan of 
Singapore: The cholera epidemic in Ceylon: A 
railway accident near Benares: Bombay: Sudden 
241 



242 THINGS I REMEMBER 

death of Lady Ferguson: We leave for Malta: 
In quarantine at Suez: From Malta to Syracuse: 
A storm: Naples: Back to Paris: The end of the 
journey 

Circumstances have fortunately enabled me 
to indulge largely in my taste for travel, but 
I do not in consequence propose to bore my 
readers v^ith lengthy impressions of the places 
and things I have seen. 

I think that travel is the best general edu- 
cation for any one desirous of enlarging their 
mind, and I w^ill go as far as to say that I 
believe a six months' tour is worth six years 
spent at college. Seneca recognized the value 
of travel even in his day, for he wrote with 
truth that, "Voyage, travel and change of 
place impart vigour." 

I first saw Spain thirty-five years ago. 
From Gibraltar I went by boat to Algeciras, 
and from there to Tarifa, which is a won- 
derful old Moorish hill town. The fortress 
was assailed by the Moors, and defended by 
the great Guzman, whose son was taken 



THINGS I REMEMBER 243 

prisoner. The enemy threatened to kill the 
youth if his father refused to surrender, but 
the answer of the defender was to hurl a 
knife from the ramparts with an intimation 
to the Moors that they could carry out their 
threat if they pleased. 

We left Tarifa by the feeble light of a 
young moon, and journeyed by mule cart to 
Begar, where we managed to get an hour's 
sleep before we took diligence to San Fer- 
nando, which was the first town to succumb to 
the revolutionary forces. 

We spent a day and a night at Cadiz, the 
cleanest town in a country not distinguished 
for cleanliness, and then took the mail train 
en route for Madrid. Here I saw the usual 
bull fight; I inspected the masterpieces of the 
Spanish painters; I went through innumer- 
able churches, and I marvelled at the won- 
ders of the Escurial. Just the things that 
others have done. But Spain in 1875 was a 
lawless land, and after I had encountered a 
body of soldiers conveying a large number 



244 THINGS I REMEMBER 

of bandits to prison, I began to think that a 
protracted visit might well be fraught with 
danger, so we decided to change the scene. 

My brother Howard and I went to Nor- 
way, where we passed one delightful June, 
and there were various pleasant, homely in- 
cidents connected with this trip that I like 
to recall when I am in a pessimistic mood. I 
remember delightful meals at farmhouses, 
country dances in low-roofed kitchens to the 
accompaniment of the rushing torrents out- 
side, and a wonderful serenade by twenty 
farmers' sons. 

I recollect an amusing incident which 
occurred once at a little farmhouse where 
we had arranged to spend the night. My 
brother and I went into a room to wash 
our hands before supper, but we found 
that towels were apparently considered su- 
perfluous. 

I called the farmer's wife, but as she was 
unable to speak English, Howard attempted 
to explain our requirements to her by a 



THINGS I REMEMBER 245 

pantomimic display. The good woman's face 
beamed with joy, and seizing a large pail of 
water she dashed it over his head, nearly 
deluging him; after this she apparently real- 
ized that it was necessary to provide some- 
thing with which he could dry himself, for 
the missing towels were speedily forthcoming. 

In those days travelling in Norway was a 
journey of exploration and adventure; there 
were hardly any tourists; hotels were few and 
far between, and the iron of the railways had 
not then eaten into the soul of the mountains. 
It was a land of untrodden ways, not like 
Switzerland, which has long been familiar 
with the feet of the globe-trotter, for even in 
my young days hotels sat like vultures on 
every spot which boasted a view, and many 
a glimpse of nature had to be paid for with 
a franc. 

We went from Sweden to Russia and 
thence to Vienna, where we took steamer for 
Trieste en route for Alexandria and the Holy 
Land. 



246 THINGS I REMEMBER 

This first visit to Austria reminds me of a 
later one when Harry Sands and I left Inns- 
bruck for a walking tour of several weeks in 
the Tyrol. We had a delightfully simple 
time, for we lived at little inns where we only 
managed to get goat's milk — cheese and black 
bread for dinner, but the food was most en- 
joyable after our hard days' climbing, and 
more often than not we made our beds on 
the straw in little huts up in the mountains. 

One day at sunset we reached a quaint inn 
surrounded by cottages, and a great waterfall 
turned the wheels which worked the village 
mill. It was a peaceful spot, and the thunder 
of the cataract was the only sound which 
broke the stillness. After dinner was over, I 
sat outside and watched the dying day; around 
me were the mountains, and far below lay 
the beautiful valley from which we had that 
morning ascended to these quiet heights. 

The rays of the setting sun seemed to kiss 
the snow into life; a faint blush stole over the 
brow of the mountains, and a little icy wind 




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THINGS I REMEMBER 247 

whispered of tranquil days. I seemed so far 
from the world that I turned to the inn- 
keeper and said impulsively — 

'^Surely I have found the abode of peace; 
we must be very near Heaven!" 

The man looked at me for a moment, and 
then pointing to the mountain tops, he said, 
with unconscious cynicism — 

"Sir, you must climb higher to find a spot 
nearer Heaven, for only two days ago, in the 
cottage over there, a lover strangled his 
sweetheart. I fear that we are very far 
from Paradise here." 

After leaving this scene of tragedy we 
crossed the mountains to a village which 
boasted of quite a decent hotel. Here we 
met Mr. James Bryce, until recently British 
Ambassador to America, whose great book. 
The American Commonwealth, is known 
wherever the English language Is spoken. 

We left one cold morning to continue our 
journey through the valleys, and as we passed 
the first village we were mistaken for an 



248 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Archduke and his aide-de-camp, who had 
been sent to inspect the troops in that part of 
the country. 

We thought it very odd to hear the people 
cheering as we passed, and, stranger still, 
when the same thing occurred while we drove 
through another village. The people were 
shouting, the bells were ringing, and cannon 
boomed to right and left of us. "They take 
you for his Imperial Highness," remarked 
our driver with a smile. 

At last we reached a little town where we 
found the streets lined with white-clad chil- 
dren, and the mayor waiting to pay his re- 
spects to the representative of the Emperor. 
As we drove down the main street more can- 
non bombed more flowers were thrown, and 
many voices joined in singing the National 
Hymn. I felt that it would be cruel to dis- 
appoint the people, and although neither 
Sands nor myself possessed the Hapsburg 
look or the Hapsburg lip, we saluted as we 
passed, to the delight of our coachman, who 



THINGS I REMEMBER 249 

thought the whole thing was a very good 
joke. 

I often wonder what sort of a reception the 
real Archduke received, and I sincerely hope 
that enough flowers and gunpowder were left 
to make some kind of display in his honour. 

Beyrout was the starting-point for our 
travels in Palestine, but as I had developed 
a chill and high fever on the boat, I had 
barely strength enough, when we arrived, to 
drag myself to the little house which was 
called an hotel. 

Howard at once set off in search of a doc- 
tor, and luckily he fell in with an English 
medical man who was staying in Beyrout 
with his family. He was a splendid physi- 
cian, and I owe my life to his constant care, 
as I was desperately ill for many weeks. 

During this illness I received royalty un- 
awares. The last Emperor of Brazil, who 
was making a tour in the Holy Land, hap- 
pened to come to the "hotel," and the land- 
lord informed him that I was lying at death's 



250 THINGS I REMEMBER 

door. Dom Pedro expressed a wish to see 
me, and I remember him standing by my 
bed, bidding me take heart, for he was "sure 
I was not going to die this time." 

I certainly had a bad spell of it. I de- 
veloped pneumonia, which nearly killed me, 
and for a day and a night I was practically 
given up. The doctor and his kind wife 
used to take turns to support me so that I 
could breathe with greater ease, and one day, 
when I was gasping for breath, I saw some- 
thing which made every nerve in my ex- 
hausted body tingle with emotion. 

I could see the bay from my bed, and the 
reason for my excitement was the sight of a 
sailing ship which had just dropped her 
anchor. Against the blue sky of Palestine I 
seemed to see a signal of hope, a message of 
comfort, for the beloved Stars and Stripes of 
my native land fluttered at the mast-head. 

Tears filled my eyes, and I had just 
strength enough to point to the emblem of 
liberty before I fainted. I always like to 



THINGS I REMEMBER 251 

think that it was the sight of my country's 
flag which made me turn the corner, and 
when I became sufficiently convalescent, I 
was taken on board a vessel bound for Naples. 

I went round the world with Harry Sands, 
and we started from San Francisco, stopping 
at many places en route. I shall never forget 
the charm of Assendy Valley, with its forests 
of giant trees, and I have most happy recol- 
lections of a Scotsman, who was the life and 
soul of our party, and who turned out to be 
the Duke of Atholl. 

In August we took steamer for Japan, and 
my first glimpse of Fusiyama, silhouetted 
against the setting sun, will never fade from 
my memory, for I felt in dreamland when I 
found myself at last in the Far East where 
everybody looked like the quaint figures met 
with on golden screens. 

We had secured passports which enabled 
us to go up country, and, accompanied by a 
clever guide, we set off to explore the in- 
terior. For several weeks we travelled by 



252 THINGS I REMEMBER 

jinrickshas, and I shall never lose the in- 
effaceable impression of those happy months. 
The longing often seizes me to return to that 
Land of Romance, but I think it is better not 
to risk the pain of disillusionment, for Japan 
is now progressive, and I fear that her pic- 
turesque past has become like the far horizon. 

How vividly travel is occasionally brought 
back to us! Dried flowers, lying half for- 
gotten in the leaves of a book, recall the 
fragrance of vanished summers; a wealth of 
delicate colour reminds us of that afternoon 
when yonder piece of Louis XV brocade 
almost implored us to rescue it from the 
mean shop in the Quartier, and that brass 
bowl has memories of the days when it 
glowed in the sunlight at Benares! Yes, 
these silent friends from distant lands cheer 
many a lonely hour, and though it may be a 
sentimental fancy, there are few of us who do 
not sometimes indulge in the solace of pleas- 
ant remembrance. 

We passed from Japan to Shanghai, then 



THINGS I REMEMBER 253 

to Hong Kong, and from there we took 
steamer for Ceylon. We spent one day at 
Singapore, where we had letters to the Sul- 
tan, who had us conducted all over his palace 
and grounds, and when we parted from him 
he gave me his signed photograph, at the same 
time expressing a wish that we might meet 
later in London. 

Our stay in Ceylon was brief, owing to the 
cholera epidemic, and I was not sorry to find 
myself in Madras, where we spent a few days 
before sailing to Calcutta. There we had a 
very pleasant time, but whilst travelling from 
Calcutta to Benares we found ourselves in all 
the horrors of a railway accident. The sights 
were terrible; forty-six people were killed, 
in addition to the wounded, and I seem even 
now to see the long lines of the dead and 
dying. 

We rested at the "Sacred City" after the 
shock, and then proceeded to Bombay, where 
we had letters of introduction to the Gov- 
ernor, Sir John Ferguson; but before we had 



254 THINGS I REMEMBER 

time to present them we heard of poor Lady 
Ferguson's painfully sudden death that day 
from cholera. She had been taken ill at four 
o'clock in the afternoon, and was buried the 
same evening. 

We were so upset by this sad news, that we 
were only too glad to leave for Malta. The 
steamer was put in quarantine at Suez, and 
for the first time I realized the meaning of 
the yellow flag, when I experienced the 
strange feeling of our isolation. The news- 
papers were passed over the ship's side in 
baskets; all money was sent down wrapped 
in paper, and the authorities would not allow 
any one to visit us on board. 

We eventually landed at Malta, where we 
took steamer to Syracuse; from Palermo we 
went on to Naples, and encountered, in the 
little stretch of water which lies between 
Syracuse and Palermo, the worst storm I have 
ever experienced. There were ten of us on 
the boat, and the crew seemed more terror- 
stricken than the passengers; indeed, the 



THINGS I REMEMBER 255 

stewards absolutely ignored their duties, and 
spent their time grovelling on the floor of 
the saloon, beseeching the Virgin to deliver 
them. It was an unpleasant experience, and 
I should not like to renew it. 

From Naples, that city of beauty and beg- 
gars, we went by gradual stages to Paris, 
and my journey round the world was over. 
I had visited many lands; I had seen the 
various races of mankind, and I somehow 
felt that my mind was broadened. In short, 
I heartily endorsed the dictum that "Young 
men should travel if but to amuse them- 
selves." 



CHAPTER XIII 

The late Ward McAllister: "The Four Hun- 
dred": Restful Society: The old families: The 
Queens of Sheba: The Belmonts: Their house in 
Fifth Avenue: The two Mrs. Astors: Mrs. 
Pierre Lorillard: Her husband* Tuxedo Park: 
Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger: A great-niece of 
Washington Irving: "Sleepy Hollow": A royal 
exile: Years afterwards: A fete champetre: A 
French fancy-dress ball in 1 828 : The old noblesse : 
Mr. Montant and his ancestors: A gentleman of 
France: Furniture from the old Chateau: A cos- 
tume ball : Malibran as a guest : The old Bowling 
Green Theatre : Jenny Lind : My friendship with 
Madame Nordica: A success of perseverance: 
Talents and temperament : The kindest of women : 
The late General Grant: His judgment: "Gen- 
tlemen, we cross the Potomac to-night": Grant 
and Lee: A contrast: "Take back your sword": 
Robert Lee's request: A generous adversary: The 
son who stood upon his dignity: "To dine and 
sleep at Windsor" : The little table : What Queen 
Victoria said: Out-Heroding Herod: Old Mr. 
Germaine: His hobby: A taste for saving money: 
256 



THINGS I REMEMBER 257 

Three deaths: The callousness of Society: Ward 
McAllister's funeral: Five out of a hundred!: 
The last music: Life's little ironies: Malicious 
Fate: "Man and his littleness perish, erased like 
an error and cancelled" 

The late Ward McAllister was responsible 
for the world-known epithet of "The Four 
Hundred," as applied to New York Society, 
in which the older families never allowed 
the turmoil of outside life to enter their social 
scheme. The best houses were absolutely 
restful, and the present generation will never 
know the charm and tranquillity which was 
manifest whenever people like Mrs. Scher- 
merhorn, Mrs. William Astor, Mrs. John 
Jacob Astor, Mrs. Belmont and Mrs. Paran 
Stevens entertained their friends. 

I remember Mrs. Paran Stevens once say- 
ing to me: "My dear Mr. Martin, a great 
deal of trouble is caused in Society because 
every woman expects to be treated like the 
one and only Queen of Sheba. If people 
would be natural they would enjoy life a 



258 THINGS I REMEMBER 

thousand times more, because interest in 
others always begets sympathy." 

The Belmonts were probably the most 
prominent leaders of the older set, and Mrs. 
Belmont's receptions were distinguished by 
the presence of every one who was really 
worth knowing. She surrounded herself with 
cultivated people, and the first thing that 
anybody of note took care to do when they 
visited New York was to obtain letters of 
introduction to Mrs. Belmont. 

The mansion in the Fifth Avenue, now 
long since demolished, contained one of the 
first private picture galleries of New York, 
and the entertainments were given on a gor- 
geous scale. Later, however, Mrs. Belmont 
felt that her health would not support the 
social strain which she imposed upon it, and 
in consequence she was obliged to forego 
much of her former hospitality. 

In my young days the Astor Houses were 
considered as being quite the show-places of 
New York, but they were pulled down and 



THINGS I REMEMBER 259 

the great Waldorf Astoria Hotel now occu- 
pies their site. Mrs. William Astor lived at 
the corner of Thirty-Fourth Street, and Mrs. 
John Jacob Astor resided at the corner of 
Thirty-Third Street and Fifth Avenue. 

The chief aspiration of the latter lady was 
a wish to improve the standard of political 
life and to cultivate the literary element in 
her set. She is a brilliant woman, full of 
social and intellectual attainments, and her 
receptions were wonderful gatherings, where 
one could reckon to meet the celebrities of 
the world of literature and politics. 

Her sister-in-law, Mrs. William Astor, 
possessed remarkable sweetness and tact. She 
loved to make people happy, and so great 
was her personality that when Mrs. Belmont 
retired from the world, the all-powerful 
Ward McAllister decided that Mrs. Astor 
was the one woman to replace her. 

He accordingly made this known to So- 
ciety, and Mrs. William Astor succeeded 
Mrs. Belmont as the social leader, until bad 



260 THINGS I REMEMBER 

health also caused her in turn to relinquish 
the position she had taken up. 

I remember the last dance given by Mrs. 
Pierre Lorillard at her house in Fifth Ave- 
nue, and never did she look more beautiful. 
The late Lord Dufferin, then Governor of 
Canada, was present, and he seemed to enter 
thoroughly into the spirit of that delightful 
evening. Mr. Pierre Lorillard was the first 
American to win the Derby, but the greatest 
monument to his name exists in Tuxedo Park, 
which has been a source of endless joy to the 
many people who have been able to build 
delightful houses around the lake, where a 
wilderness of uncultivated forest had previ- 
ously existed. 

Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger was a familiar 
figure In New York Society, and I always 
loved to talk to her. She was the great-niece 
of Washington Irving, and she used to tell 
me stories about her uncle and his charming 
home of "Sleepy Hollow." The romantic 
ivy-covered cottage is an ideal residence, and 



THINGS I REMEMBER 261 

from the lawns one gets an exquisite view of 
the Hudson river, about which the great 
author was so fond of writing. 

Mrs. Cruger once told me how her uncle 
sent for her mother to come and help him to 
entertain the exiled Louis Napoleon, who 
was then on a visit to America. 

A few days after the fete at Sleepy Hollow, 
Irving said to his niece, "My dear girl, when 
I looked at you wandering about the grounds 
with the Prince, I could not help wondering 
whether Fate will ever be kind to him and 
place him on the throne of France." Mrs. 
Cruger said that her mother was received at 
the Tuileries after Louis Napoleon was pro- 
claimed Emperor; as she curtseyed to him 
her mind reverted to the pretty garden at 
Sleepy Hollow where she had first made his 
acquaintance, and it was pleasant for her to 
see that Louis Napoleon had not forgotten old 
times. 

Washington Irving, as Minister to Spain, 
knew the Empress Eugenie when she was a 



262 THINGS I REMEMBER 

pretty child, and the friendship between them 
lasted until his death. 

Mrs. Cruger was a perfect hostess. She 
understood to her finger-tips the require- 
ments of the world in which she moved, and 
one of her entertainments is still spoken of as 
having been an exact reproduction of a real 
French fete champetre. This brings to my 
mind a story told me by my old friend 
Jules Montant, concerning a fancy-dress ball 
given in 1828 by his grandparents, who were 
among the earliest French families to settle 
in America. Mr. Montant's grandfather, 
Charles de Brugiere, left France about the 
time of the Revolution. Shortly after his 
arrival in the New World he married Mile. 
Heloise Teisseire, and built a delightful 
house at New York on Bowling Green where 
the Produce Exchange now stands. M. de 
Brugiere's furniture was sent over from his 
old home, the Chateau de Farsac, and he 
loved to surround himself with souvenirs of 
the fair land he had left behind. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 263 

Soon after their wedding M. and Mme. dc 
Brugiere gave a remarkable costume ball, the 
first of its kind ever seen in New York, and 
the majority of the dresses worn came from 
France. Madame Malibran, who was sing- 
ing in New York, was among the guests, and 
she delighted every one with her wonderful 
concerts at the old Bowling Green Theatre, 
where years after Jenny Lind's flute-like voice 
was also heard. 

The mention of these two great singers 
reminds me of my dear friend, Madame 
Nordica, whose acquaintance I made at Bay- 
reuth when she sang the part of Elsa. I 
always thought her voice lacked an inde- 
scribable "something," but she was wise 
enough to be taught by Frau Wagner, and 
I honestly believe that she became a singer 
of note chiefly through her dogged per- 
severance. 

Madame Nordica was brought up in New 
England, and she sprang from the same hard, 
narrow-minded race of which my grand- 



264 THINGS I REMEMBER 

mother Martin was such a typical example. 
But her talent and temperament saved her 
from leading a small, smothered life, and her 
fame as a concert-singer paled before her 
later success as an operatic star. 

After Nordica's first performance at Bay- 
reuth, Frau Wagner, who was sitting in the 
theatre, rushed up to the singer, and em- 
bracing her with effusion, exclaimed, "Oh, 
madame, if only my dear husband had been 
alive to hear how you have rendered his 
music!" 

The great prima donna is the kindest of 
women, and she is always willing to sing for 
charity. I remember how she sang for me 
one New Year's Eve, and how kindly she 
spoke to the poor souls who were my guests. 
Madame Nordica has a voice and a heart of 
gold, and her sympathy and humanity have 
always constituted her greatest charm in my 
eyes. 

The late General Grant was another friend, 
and him I am more than proud to have 



THINGS I REMEMBER 265 

known. I often had the pleasure of meeting 
him, as his sons studied law in the office of 
my sister's husband, and I well remember 
the impressive scene when his body passed 
through Albany. The General was beloved 
for his humanity, and it is almost superfluous 
to mention his greatness as a commander. 
He relied absolutely on his own judgment, 
and never allowed any one to dissuade him 
once his mind was made up. 

During the war a meeting of generals dis- 
cussed the question of crossing the Potomac, 
and all those present were strongly opposed 
to the plan. Grant listened to their argu- 
ments in silence, then he rose to his feet, and 
said briefly, "Gentlemen, we cross the Poto- 
mac to-night." 

Grant's nobility of character was shown 
when the Southern commander, Robert Lee, 
surrendered and presented himself before the 
General, wearing the splendid uniform given 
him by the women of Richmond. He was a 
handsome man, a typical courtly Southerner, 



266 THINGS I REMEMBER 

and his appearance contrasted strangely with 
that of Grant, who was sitting on a bench, his 
uniform faded and travel-worn, with even 
the epaulettes missing. 

Lee stepped forward and handed his sword 
to the General, who returned it with simple 
dignity. "I have but one request to make," 
said Lee, "will you allow my men to retain 
their horses? They will eventually return to 
their farms, and without horses they cannot 
resume work." 

Grant promised that his wish should be 
complied with, and General Lee always 
afterwards spoke in the highest terms of his 
late adversary. 

Alec Yorke told me a very good story about 
one of General Grant's sons who accompanied 
his father to Windsor when the late Queen 
had formally commanded him to dine and 
sleep. 

General Grant was honoured by taking 
dinner with the Queen at a little table, but 
his son was told that he would have to dine 



THINGS I REMEMBER 267 

with the Court in another room. There and 
then ensued a really painful scene, for the 
young man made very thoughtless remarks 
about the indignity of feeding with "under- 
lings," until at last the matter reached the 
Queen's ears. "Well, well," said she, "if the 
young man really takes it so to heart, and 
doesn't understand Court etiquette, say no 
more about it and put another plate at the 
small table." 

I often think that parents with simple 
tastes seem destined to produce children 
whose airs and extravagances out-Herod 
Herod. In this connection I remember hear- 
ing my father talk about Mr. Germaine of 
Albany, who was a very rich man and kept 
all his securities in my father's bank. 

Mr. Germaine was a typical miser who 
grudged the expenditure of an extra cent, but 
his children did not inherit their parents' 
propensities, and this caused my father to re- 
mark one day to Mr. Germaine when he 
came to the bank — 



268 THINGS I REMEMBER 

"I wonder why you worry so much over 
money! Death is bound to claim you one 
day, and your children will spend everything 
you have saved." 

"I know all about that," returned the old 
man, with a sly chuckle; "but if they get as 
much happiness out of spending my money 
as I have done out of saving it, then I'll be 
amply satisfied." 

My father was thunderstruck, until he re- 
flected that most men have a hobby, and that 
perhaps Mr. Germaine really experienced 
some pleasure in playing the part of a miser. 

I well remember the winter which carried 
off three great leaders of the social world, for 
Ward McAllister, Henry le Grand Cannon 
and Mrs. Paran Stevens all died within a short 
time of one another. 

What struck me so much was that these 
deaths seemed hardly to leave any impression 
upon Society, although the dead had slaved 
and devoted themselves for years to its serv- 
ice. Everything went on as usual; one heard 



THINGS I REMEMBER 269 

at first the parrot cries of condolence, the 
stereotyped remarks suitable to the occasion, 
and then the world smiled again. 

I went to Ward McAllister's funeral serv- 
ice at Grace Church with my brother and his 
wife, and we could not help noticing that 
there were only five representatives of the 
"Patriarchs" present, although Ward had 
worked for years and years in the interests of 
this organization. His winter balls will be 
remembered as being wonderful parties, 
where those present were solely selected on 
account of their birth and position. Each of 
the one hundred "Patriarchs" chosen from 
New York Society subscribed a hundred dol- 
lars, and each subscriber was entitled to send 
out a certain number of invitations. The 
lists were returned for McAllister's approval, 
and whenever we entertained a distinguished 
stranger in our midst the burning question 
was, "Is he worthy of an invitation to the 
Patriarchs' ball?" 

But if Ward was a person to be placated 



270 THINGS I REMEMBER 

during his lifetime, the Patriarchs ignored 
him as a dead lion, and it was difficult to 
realize how little his memory seemed to be 
appreciated. There was but a handful of 
Society people present at the service, the gen- 
eral public had crowded in out of curiosity, 
and the great band of musicians that had 
played at all Ward McAllister's balls as- 
sembled for the last time at his funeral. 

As I left the church I was struck anew by 
life's ironies, and how a malicious Fate seems 
to derive pleasure in rending the mantle of 
our self-esteem. She strips it from us with 
cruel fingers, and whispers as she tears away 
the last remnant of our false pride: "Man 
and his littleness perish, erased like an error 
and cancelled." 



CHAPTER XIV 

Henry M. Flagler: The maker of Florida: His 
early struggles: His forceful character: Henry B. 
Plant: An unsuccessful rival: An interesting Sun- 
day: Three great men: My mission in the Bow- 
ery: The stokers' strike: On board the Kaiser 
Wilhelm II: I receive a note: What it contained: 
The Bowery boys as stokers: Women who help 
humanity: Mrs. William Sloane and her sisters: 
Mrs. Stuyvesant Fish and her opinion of me as a 
speaker: The famous costume ball: Mrs. Bradley 
Martin's wish to give an impetus to trade: A 
storm of comment: The ball is denounced from 
the pulpit : Threatening letters : We are burlesqued 
on the stage: What Theodore Roosevelt said: A 
dream of loveliness: Versailles and New York: 
Wonderful jewels: Family heirlooms: A touch of 
barbarism: The altar of the Golden Calf: The 
road to disillusion: My brother decides to live in 
London: Lady Craven: Lord Uffington and his 
grandmothers: The disadvantages of the Embassy 
system: My tour with Mr. E. Clarence Jones: 
Apathetic citizens : Archbishop Ireland : A hostile 
271 



272 THINGS I REMEMBER 

reception at Atlanta: A Baptist deputation: Pre- 
historic cars: A cloud of petrol: "Is this a joy 
ride?": A dance at Louisville: The old Gait 
House: Southern belles: A curious custom: Was 
our tour successful?: My crusade against the idle 
rich: Selfish Society: "A traitor to my class": 
My appreciation of the American Press: The 
lighter side of life: The love of luxury: Unhappy 
marriages : The ideal union : The evils of Platonic 
friendship: Looking backw^ard: Partings in our 
family: The graves of a household: The memory 
of the beloved dead : My wish 

The name of Henry M. Flagler will always 
be indissolubly connected with the develop- 
ment of the East Coast of Florida, which he 
found a wilderness, and which he transformed 
into a veritable Garden of Eden, 

His great work of making the railway 
from Jacksonville to Key West was a triumph 
of engineering, and it will always rank as 
one of the "constructive" wonders of the 
world. Henry Flagler was born at Avon, 
N. Y., in 1830. His parents were Scotch 
Presbyterians, and until he was fourteen 



THINGS I REMEMBER 273 

years of age Henry worked in a little country 
store. He boarded with his employers, and 
every evening after the shutters were up he 
lit his lamp and studied hard, with the goal of 
advancement and success always before his 
tired eyes. 

When I first met Henry Flagler he was a 
white-haired old man whose every gesture 
and every word spoke of tremendous will 
power and force of character. In those days 
I had a nervous habit of working my foot 
up and down when I was talking, and this 
trick irritated my friend. "Fred," said he, 
"if you don't stop moving that foot you'll find 
it will eventually control your whole body. 
Just you stop before it gets the better of 
you." 

Henry Flagler was one of the world's rich- 
est men, and he never failed to assist people 
who showed a disposition to help themselves. 
His great schemes gave employment to thou- 
sands, and his private and public charities 
were boundless. 



274 THINGS I REMEMBER 

One of the first things which he caused to 
be built in Florida was a large cemetery. 
"What is to be the inscription over the 
gates?" I asked. 

"Why," he replied, "surely the best words 
for such a place: 'That which is so universal 
as Death must be a blessing.' " 

I remember once we two sat looking over 
the sea at beautiful Palm Beach. "How 
lovely the earth is!" I exclaimed; "I wonder 
if Heaven will be more beautiful than this 
scene." 

"Well, Fred," replied Flagler, "I guess 
I'll have no use for Heaven unless there are 
railways to be constructed there!" He cer- 
tainly possesses a dry humour peculiarly his 
own, and his retort to his rival Henry B. 
Plant is quite worth recording. 

Henry B. Plant exploited the West Coast 
of Florida in opposition to Flagler's devel- 
opment of the East, but his schemes were 
unsuccessful, and he was greatly mortified at 
his failure. One day Plant chanced to meet 



THINGS I REMEMBER 275 

Henry Flagler, and said to him with a per- 
ceptible sneer — 

"Say, Flagler, where is that fool place they 
call Palm Beach?" 

"Friend Plant," answered his opponent, 
"all you've got to do is to follow the crowd 
until you come to it." 

One Sunday last Autumn I spent an inter- 
esting day with Mr. Flagler, Mr. Archbold, 
and Mr. John Rockefeller. I met Mr. 
Archbold for the first time, and was very 
pleasantly surprised, for the general idea is 
that he possesses a hard and unsympathetic 
personality. Instead of this, I met a most 
agreeable old man who listened to my stories 
about my work in the Bowery, and who prac- 
tically repeated Mayor Gaynor's question — 

"Are you not afraid to go about as you 
do?" 

And to both questioners I gave the same 
answer — 

"I'm never afraid of the poor or of broken 
men." 



276 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I think that I owe an enormous debt of 
moral gratitude to Henry Flagler, for his 
example has enabled me to support life's 
troubles with more patience than is in my 
nature, and he has done much to help me to 
fight the hard battle of self-control. 

The mention of my mission reminds me of 
an incident which took place shortly after the 
appalling loss of the Titanic. I was on the 
eve of leaving for England, and a few days 
before my departure I addressed a meeting 
of the respectable unemployed down the 
Bowery. The audience were quite different 
from the loafer class, and I urged them to 
accept work, no matter how hard or repug- 
nant it might be. "Work, boys," I said, "go 
away from here with the determination to 
fight, and I feel sure that you'll win through." 

The next morning the papers were full of 
the stokers' strike on the Kaiser Wilhelm II, 
the very boat on which I had booked my 
passage, and when we were well out, every 
one wondered whether the inexperienced sub- 



THINGS I REMEMBER 277 

stitutes, who had replaced the stokers, would 
work well enough to keep the vessel up to 
time. 

One afternoon I was handed a note, which 
I opened and read with indescribable sur- 
prise. It ran — 

''Mr. Martin, 

"Forty of the boys are acting as stokers 
on this boat. You told us to take any kind of 
work the other night, and we've just done 
what you said." 

I was overjoyed to find that my words had 
found a response, and, when I told the Cap- 
tain what had occurred, he very kindly al- 
lowed me to interview the amateur stokers. 

They came and stood before me in a grimy 
group, but their bearing was that of workers, 
and as such I welcomed them, saying — 

"This is fine of you, but is it very hard?" 

For answer I saw a row of palms extended, 
which were blackened, blistered and raw. 

"I guess it is somewhat," said a young 



278 THINGS I REMEMBER 

farmer from Virginia, who was the spokes- 
man of the party. 

A rush of emotion kept me silent for a 
few seconds, and then I cried — 

"Boys, let me shake hands with you all. I'd 
feel more proud of that than to get the hand- 
shake of an Emperor." 

Women can help to alleviate suffering bet- 
ter than men, and numerous are the charitable 
acts which Mrs. William Sloane and her sis- 
ters perform. These ladies, no matter what 
hours they keep or how late they entertain, 
are always ready to commence their day's la- 
bours in the field of good works, and they 
devote much money and a great deal of time 
to the good of their fellow-citizens. 

Commodore Gerry has done noble work in 
founding the Gerry Society, which protects 
poor children from cruelty and bad treatment. 
The accomplishment of this, and his success 
in getting similar laws passed through the 
State of New York, will be his most enduring 
memorial. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 279 

I will not take up the time of my readers 
by dwelling on my own hobbies in that direc- 
tion, for I have not written these Recollec- 
tions as a peg upon which to hang my par- 
ticular theories, and in this connection I shall 
never forget the opinion of Mrs. Stuyvesant 
Fish upon my powers as a speaker in the 
cause of philanthropy. 

"And what have you been doing with your- 
self to-day, Fred Martin?" she asked one 
evening at dinner. 

"Oh," I replied, "I've been addressing the 
inmates of the asylum for the blind; I spoke 
for over an hour, and at the conclusion I 
asked my audience which they would prefer 
to be — deaf or blind." 

"Well, and the verdict?" inquired Mrs. 
Fish. 

"They were unanimous in deciding in fa- 
vour of blindness." 

''What! after hearing you talk for an 
hour?" cried my fair friend. 



280 THINGS I REMEMBER 

So, after this, I will leave charity and re- 
turn to other topics. 

Every year my brother Bradley and his 
w^ife spent their w^inters in New York, when 
they entertained largely. One morning at 
breakfast my brother remarked — 

"I think it would be a good thing if we 
got up something; there seems to be a great 
deal of depression in trade; suppose we send 
out invitations for a concert." 

"And pray, what good will that do?" asked 
my sister-in-law, "the money will only benefit 
foreigners. No, I've a far better idea; let us 
give a costume ball at so short notice that our 
guests won't have time to get their dresses 
from Paris. That will give an impetus to 
trade that nothing else will." 

Directly Mrs. Martin's plan became known, 
there was a regular storm of comment, which 
arose in the first instance from the remarks 
made by a clergyman who denounced the 
costume ball from the pulpit. 



THINGS I REMEMBER 281 

"Yes," he raged, "you rich people put next 
to nothing in the collection plate, and yet 
you'll spend thousands of dollars on Mrs. 
Bradley Martin's ball." 

The newspapers then took up the subject, 
and we were besieged by reporters, but my 
brother and his wife invariably refused to 
discuss the matter. Threatening letters ar- 
rived by every post, debating societies dis- 
cussed our extravagance, and last, but not 
least, we were burlesqued unmercifully on 
the stage. 

I was highly indignant about my sister-in- 
law being so cruelly attacked, seeing that her 
object in giving the ball was to stimulate 
trade, and, indeed, she was perfectly right, 
for, owing to the short notice, many New 
York shops sold out brocad^es and silks which 
had been lying in their stock-rooms for 
years. 

The ball was fixed for February lo, 1897, 
and a day or two before Mrs. Martin met 



282 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Theodore Roosevelt in the street. "I'm very 
pleased that you and Mrs. Roosevelt are com- 
ing to the ball," she said. 

"Oh," he replied, "my wife's going because 
she's got her costume, but, as one of the com- 
missioners, I shall be outside looking after 
the police!" 

I think every one anticipated a disturbance, 
but nothing of the kind took place, and the 
evening passed without any untoward in- 
cident. 

The best way I can describe what is always 
known as the "Bradley Martin Ball," is to 
say that it reproduced the splendour of Ver- 
sailles in New York, and I doubt if even the 
Roi Soleil himself ever witnessed a more 
dazzling sight. The interior of the Waldorf- 
Astoria Hotel was transformed into a replica 
of Versailles, and rare tapestries, beautiful 
flowers and countless lights made an effective 
background for the wonderful gowns and 
their wearers. I do not think there has ever 
been a greater display of jewels before or 



THINGS I REMEMBER 283 

since; in many cases the diamond buttons 
worn by the men represented thousands of 
dollars, and the value of the historic gems 
worn by the ladies baffles description. 

My sister-in-law personated Mary Stuart, 
and her gold embroidered gown was trimmed 
with pearls and precious stones. Bradley, as 
Louis XV, wore a Court suit of brocade, and 
I represented a gentleman of the period. The 
whole thing appealed most strongly to my 
imagination, and my mind constantly re- 
verted to the friend of my childhood, the dear 
grandmother who would have been so keenly 
interested in it all. I remember that Mrs. 
James Beekman, as Lady Teazle, wore a 
lovely dress, which formerly belonged to an 
ancestress, and Mrs. Henry Burnet's satin 
petticoat was another family heirloom which 
left the scented seclusion of a cedar-wood 
chest for this interesting occasion. 

Anne Morgan lent a touch of barbaric 
colour with her wonderful Pocahontas cos- 
tume which had been made by Indians, and 



284 THINGS I REMEMBER 

the suit of gold inlaid armour worn by Mr. 
Belmont was valued at ten thousand dollars. 
The power of wealth with its refinement and 
vulgarity was everywhere. It gleamed from 
countless jewels, and it was proclaimed by 
the thousands of orchids and roses, whose 
fragrance that night was like incense burnt 
on the altar of the Golden Calf. 

I cannot conceive why this entertainment 
should have been condemned. We Americans 
are so accustomed to display that I should 
have thought the ball would not have been 
regarded as anything very unusual. Every 
one said it was the most brilliant function of 
the kind ever seen in America, and it cer- 
tainly was the most talked about. 

After the ball the authorities promptly 
raised my brother's taxes quite out of propor- 
tion to those paid by any one else, and the 
matter was only settled after a very acrimoni- 
ous dispute. Bradley and his wife resented 
intensely the annoyance to which they had 
been subjected, and they decided to sell their 



THINGS I REMEMBER 285 

house in New York and buy a residence in 
London. 

Four years previously their only daughter, 
Cornelia, had married Lord Craven, and my 
brother felt that the family affections were 
now implanted in the Old World. His 
grandson, who was born in the year of the 
famous ball, was such a source of pride to us 
all that I believe the advent of the boy finally 
decided the Bradley Martins about leaving 
New York. 

Lord Uffington possessed the distinction of 
having two grandmothers and three great- 
grandmothers at his christening. I was 
romantic enough to speculate whether the 
spirits of gentle Mrs. Townshend and stern 
Mrs. Martin were in the wonderful Adams 
Chapel at Coombe, and I smiled as I won- 
dered what Mrs. Martin would have thought 
of it all had she been present in the flesh. 

In the winter of 1909 I became engaged in 
furthering an object in which I was particu- 
larly interested. The disadvantages of our 



286 THINGS I REMEMBER 

embassy system have always struck me most 
forcibly, and it seems scandalous that, with 
the exception of Constantinople, there should 
be no permanent residences for the American 
Ambassadors in the various capitals in the 
world. The representatives of America are 
not always rich men, and the rent of a house 
suitable for their position must be a severe 
financial strain. 

Mr. E. Clarence Jones and I, therefore, 
arranged to tour the principal cities with the 
object of persuading prominent public men to 
influence their representatives in Congress to 
favour a Bill for the appropriation of funds 
to purchase embassies. 

We had a most interesting time, and, 
although certain apathetic citizens did not 
appear to have any sympathy with the plight 
of their homeless Ambassadors, I shall always 
recall with gratitude the kindness shown me, 
particularly at St. Paul's, Minnesota, by Arch- 
bishop Ireland. The Archbishop possesses 
tremendous influence, and as I was very 



THINGS I REMEMBER 287 

anxious to meet him I did not mind the 
thirty-mile sleigh ride to the place where he 
resided. The door of his house was opened 
by a typical Irish maidservant, and I was 
shown into the presence of the little old man 
who controls the vote. He listened to my 
views with extreme attention, and then held 
up his hand, saying, ''My son, I will meet 
you in every way." 

At Atlanta, Georgia, a prominent patent 
medicine manufacturer tried to spoil our 
meeting out of pique by running an opposi- 
tion show of his own, at which Mr. O'Brien 
spoke and then afterwards came on to ad- 
dress our audience, much to the anger of the 
pill-man. At Savannah we were met by a 
Baptist deputation, and escorted to breakfast 
on the beach in prehistoric motor-cars. As 
we bumped over the stony roads, occasionally 
stopping for lengthy repairs and led, not by a 
pillar of fire, but by a dense cloud of petrol 
fumes, a cheerful Baptist turned to me, and 
said — 



288 THINGS I REMEMBER 

"Say, Mr. Martin, is this what you New 
Yorkers call a joy ride?" 

I assured him that such was not the case, 
and I shuddered at the thought of the word 
''joy" being mentioned in connection with this 
malodorous motor run. It was then 8 a.m.; 
a cold wind swept the beach, I was unshaven 
and hungry, and hoped that baptism by im- 
mersion would not form part of the morn- 
ing's programme. 

We had a delightful dance at Louisville, 
which completely did away with the mem- 
ories of the horrible "joy ride," for Colonel 
Dupont, the owner of the old Gait House, 
came back to it and gave a dance in our 
honour. 

I never saw so many typical Southern 
beauties as on this occasion, and I made 
acquaintance with the amusing custom, 
"down South," which prevents a man from 
monopolizing a pretty partner. 

Directly he feels a tap on his shoulder he 
must relinquish the lady, and the fun of the 



THINGS I REMEMBER 289 

evening consists in dodging the taps so as to 
keep the coveted belle as long as he can. 

It was an animated pretty scene, rem- 
iniscent of the days before the war, and 
although the Gait House was a bare and 
hideous building, what it lacked in beauty 
was amply atoned for by the presence of the 
lovely girls who danced the happy hours 

away. 

Our tour was productive of some result, 
for a small appropriation now exists to re- 
lieve any financial strain, and my friend Mr. 
E. Clarence Jones, with his usual generosity, 
took upon his shoulders the entire financial 
burden of managing the Embassy Associa- 
tion, which was formed in connection with 
our scheme. 

I do not propose to dwell at any length on 
the circumstances which led up to my crusade 
against the idle rich. I simply felt I must let 
a certain selfish section of Society know that 
the wealth which they had inherited could 
open the gates of untold pleasure for others. 



290 THINGS I REMEMBER 

I unhesitatingly became, as it were, a traitor 
to my own class, and ranged myself on the 
side of the poor. 

I have not regretted my attitude, although 
I must confess that at first it required a cer- 
tain amount of consideration to act as I did. 
The day for making great fortunes is nearly 
over — never to return; the people will not 
in future allow wealth to be accumulated by 
the few, and they will insist upon the rich 
bearing in far greater proportion the burden 
of the poor. 

I have always been nobly seconded by the 
American Press in my charitable schemes, 
and I tender, through this medium, my 
grateful thanks to the great newspapers who 
have helped me so cordially, for I can never 
forget the reply of the late Bishop Potter to 
my question, "What has been the hardest 
thing in your career?" 

"Begging for money," he answered. 

I manage to see a good deal of the lighter 
side of life. I have witnessed the great 



THINGS I REMEMBER 291 

changes which have swept over Society, and 
I am forced to think that living becomes 
more and more expensive as time goes on. 
Extravagance in dress is more marked year 
by year, and I think that the love of luxury 
is the cause of so many unhappy homes, for 
it seems to me that nine out of ten marriages 
are failures. 

The ideal union is a true friendship be- 
tween husband and wife, but it rarely, if 
ever, exists, for man is a cautious being, and 
a woman never allows another than herself 
to enter the secret places of her soul. 

Platonic friendship is responsible for un- 
told mischief, because it pretends to be so 
safe. It never really becomes harmless until 
either party has realized its danger and 
knows how to resist its specious allurements. 

Passion burns out, and love so-called 
withers in the cold winds of the world. I 
only give any House of Passionate Love a 
life of five years, unless its foundations rest 
on the rock of respect. 



292 THINGS I REMEMBER 

Matrimony is an uphill road, and if either 
husband or wife attempts to push their re- 
sponsibilities to one side the result will in- 
evitably be disastrous for both. 

Looking backward at a very happy life I 
feel I have much to be grateful for. There 
have been partings in my family, and my 
brother Howard and I represent the last of 
that happy band of children who played in 
the old house at Albany. But the memory 
of my beloved dead is ever present, and I 
look forward to a day when we shall be 
reunited. 

As for myself, "I expect to pass through 
this world but once. Any good, therefore, 
that I can do, or any kindness that I can show 
to any fellow creature, let me do it now. Let 
me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not 
pass this way again." 

THE END 



INDEX 



Albany, 28, 31, 32, 33, 39, 57, 
58, 62, 64, 72, 81, 88, 89, 113, 
265 

Albany, Duke of, 226 

Algeciras, 242 

AIlsop, Henry, 252, 233 

Antonelli, Cardinal, 144, 145 

Archbold, Mr., 275 

Arnold, Benedict, 38, 39 

Ascot, 201 

Astor, Mrs. John Jacob, 257, 
259 

Astor, William, 217 

Astor, Mrs. William, 257, 259 

Atholl, Duke of, 251 

Ayers, Mrs., 117-121, 227 



B 



Baden-Baden, 183 
Balmacaan, 198, 227, 232-238 
Barrie, Sir James, 238 
Beaufort Castle, 235 
Beckwith, Miss, 209, 215 
Beekman, Mrs. James, 283 
Bell, Mrs. Isaac, 216 
Belmont, August. 93, 94, 284 
Belmont, Mrs., 257-259 
Benares, 252, 253 
Berens, Miss, 180 
Berkeley Castle, 189 
Bey rout, 249 
Bombay, 253 
Bonnat, 123 

"Boston" (the dance), 177 
Brougham, Lord, 237 
Brown-Potter, Mr. and Mrs. 
James, 176 



Bryce, James, 247 
Burden, James, 79 
Burnet, Mrs. Henry, 283 
Burton, Lord and Lady, 229, 

236 
Butler, Lady Arthur, 217 



Cadiz, 243 

Cairns, Lady, 181 

Cairns, Lord, 180 

Calcutta, 253 

Cameron, John, 63, 64 

Campbell, Mrs., 143, 179 

Carr, Maj.-Gen., 89 

Cawdor, 202-204 

Cawdor, Dowager Lady, 202, 
204 

Ceylon, 253 

Chamberlain, Miss (after- 
wards Lady Naylor-Ley- 
land), 216, 217 

Chaulne, Duchesse de, 142. 

Choate, Mr., 231 

Clarendon, Lady, 188 

Clayton, Sir Oscar, 172, 173 

Constantinople, 286 

Coombe Abbey, 196, 285 

Cowes, 169, 173, 176-178, 243 

Craven, Countess, 196, 218, 285 

Craven, Earl of, 196, 218, 285 

Crawford, F. Marion, 151 

Cruger, Mrs. van Rensselaer, 
260-262 

Cunard, Sir Bache, 188 

Curzon, Lady (formerly Miss 
Mary Leiter), 209, 223 

Cushman, Charlotte, 86-88 



293 



294 



INDEX 



D 

Dalison, Charles, 228-230 

Davies, Julian Tappin, 72 

De Haville, 26 

Devonshire, Louise Duchess 
of, 78, 200 

"Double Duchess," see Devon- 
shire, Louise, Duchess of 

Dufiferin, Lord, 260 

Dupont, Colonel, 288 

Duran, Carolus, 123 



Eames, Madame, 121, 122 

Edinburgh, Duke and Duchess 
of, 101, 102 

Edward VII, 76. 103, 115, 138, 
157-161, 169-171, 173, 174, 
213, 214, 217, 219, 236, 237 

Endicott, Miss, 209 



Grant, Miss Adele (Lady Es- 
sex), 180 
Grant, General, 90, 264-266 
Gray, George Griswold, 80, 97 
Gray, Mrs. George Griswold, 

96, 223 
Grinnell, Mrs., 76 

H 

Hagerman, Mons., 86 
Holland, Lord and Lady, 192 
Howe, Mrs. Julia Ward, 93, 94 
Hudson River, 36-38, 72, 261 
Hugo, Victor, 136-139 



Ilchester, Lord, 193 
Ireland, Archbishop, 286 
Irvin, Misses, 79, 96 
Irving, Sir Henry, 237 



Fenton, Governor Reuben, 70 
Ferguson, Lady, 254 
Ferguson, Sir John, 253 
Fish, Mrs. Stuyvesant, 205, 279 
Fitzhardinge, Lord, 189, 190 
Flagler, Henry, 272-276 
Fuller, Loie, 134 

G 

Galway, Lady, 190, 191 
Garcia (the great gambler), 

182 
Garden, Mary, 128, 129 
George III., 42 
George V., 7Z, 103, 204 
Gillett, William. 226-228 
Gladstone, W. E., 162-164 
Glenguoich, 236 
Goelet, Miss May (afterwards 

Duchess of Roxburgh), 218 
Goodrich, Mr:, 133 



Jackson, Isaac, 58 

James, General Howard, 66 

James, Mrs., 67 

Japan, 251 

Jerome, Leonard. 79 

Jerome, Miss, 209 

Jones, E. Clarence, 286, 289 

K 

Keene, James R., 201 
Keppel, Mrs. George, 217 
King, Miss, 222 ; see also Wad- 

dington, Madame 
Kuhn, Mrs. Charles, 93 



Lakefield, 233 

Lampson. Miss (later Lady 

Drummond), 99 
Leigh. Hon. Dudley, 215 
Leiter, Miss Daisy, 223 



INDEX 



295 



Leiter, Miss Mary, 209, 223 

Lennox, Lord Henry Gordon, 
177 

Leo XIII, 144-147 

Lewis, Mr., 237 

Lincoln, Abraham, 90 

Lincoln, Mr. (American Min- 
ister in London), 198 

Livermore, Mrs., 120 

Lloyd, Lady Mary, 196 

Lorillard, Mrs. Pierre, 260 

Louisville, 288 

Lovat, Dowager Lady, 236 

Lovat, Lord, 235 

Lowther, Mr. and Mrs. Wil- 
liam, 156, 193 

Lumley, Augustus, 226 



M 

McAllister, Mathew Hall, IZ 
McAllister, Ward, 72-74, 99, 

257, 259, 268-270 
McCormick, Mr. and Mrs., 

133 
Mackay, Mrs. John, 176, 177 
Mackintosh, The, 204 
MacVeagh, Mr. Wayne (the 

American Ambassador at 

Rome), 148 
Madras, 253 
Madrid, 243 
Malmaison, 111 
Malta, 254 
Manchester, Consuelo Duchess 

of, 160, 219, 220 
Manchester, Duke of, 220 
Manchester, Louise, Duchess 

of, 200 
Margherita, Queen, 148, 149 
Marie, Mr. Peter, 98, 99 
Martin, Alice, Z2) 
Martin, Anna, 32 
Martin, Bradley, 68, 70-72, 199, 

215, 231-233, 238, 280-285 
Martin, Mrs. Bradley, 197-199, 

231, 280-285; see also Sher- 
man, Miss Cornelia 



Martin, Harriet, 33 
Martin, Henry, ZZ 
Martin, Henry Hull, 29-31, 49, 

50, 80-84 
Martin, Mrs. Henry Hull; see 

Townshend, Anne 
Martin, Howard, ZZ, 101, 105, 

145, 244 
Martin, Mrs. (grandmother of 

the author), 44-47 
Massenet, 128 
Mayflower, The, 26 
May, Fred, 213 
Melba, Madame, 128-131 
Merode, Cleo de, 140, 141 
Monaco, Prince of, 183 
Montant, Jules, 262 
Moore, Mrs. William, 114-116 
Moore, William, 114 
Morgan, Anne, 283 
Morgan, J. Pierpont, 143 
Moulton, Mrs., 84-86 
Moy, 204 

N 

Naples, 254 

Naylor-Leyland, Sir Herbert, 

217 
New Amsterdam, 27 
Newport, 92, 96, 98-100 
New York, 36, 55-57, 80, 131, 

280-284 
Nordica, Madame, 263 
Norway, 244, 245 



O 

Oyster Bay, 27, 28 



Paget, Lady, 209, 213, 214, 217 

Palermo, 254 

Palm Beach. Florida, 130, 274 

Paris, 95, 111-143 

Pearl, Cora, 113 



296 



INDEX 



Pedro, Dom (Emperor of Bra- 
zil), 249 
Pell, Mrs. Stephen, 121 
Pius IX, 144, 145 
Pius X, 144, 148 
Porter, General, 133 
Potomac, 224, 225 
Prince Imperial, 106-8 



R 

Raynham, 26 

Reed, Miss Fanny, 92-93, 118, 

127-128 ISO 
Reid, Mrs. Whitelaw, 132, 230 
Ristori, Madame, 150, 151 
Robinson, Miss Kate, 84 
Rochester, Mrs., 32 
Rockefeller, John, 275 
Rodin, Auguste, 123 
Ronalds, Mrs. Peter Lorillard, 

77-79, 220, 221 
Rothschild, Baron Ferdinand, 

158, 161 
Rothschild, Miss Alice de, 160 
Rothschild, Miss Annie de, 162 



Sagan, Princess de, 120 
Sands, Harry, 157, 189, 190 
Sands, Mahlon, 156, 157, 165, 

166, 188 
Sands, Mrs. Mahlon, 157-159, 

165-167, 188 
San Fernando, 243 
San Francisco, 251 
Sargent, John Singer, 122 
Saunderson, Sybil, 128, 129 
Schermerhom, Mrs., 257 
Schurz, Karl, 83 
Seafield, Lady, 234, 237 
Seafield, Lord, 232 
Sears, Mrs., 133 
Selliere, Baronne de la, 120 
Shanghai, 252 
Sheppard, Elliot, 70 



Sheridan, General, 88, 89 

Sherman, Miss Cornelia, 70- 
72; see also Martin, Mrs. 
Bradley 

Shonts, Mr., 143 

Singapore, 253 

Sorchams, Madame de, 122 

Stern, Viscount de (after- 
wards Lord Wandsworth), 
170-175 

Stevens, Miss Minnie, 209, 213, 
214; see also Paget, Lady 

Stevens, Mrs. Paran, 92, 95, 
96, 257, 268 

Stuyvesant, Peter, 27 

Suez, 254 

Suffield, Lord, 174, 177 

Suffolk, Lord, 223 

Sullivan, Sir Arthur, 220 

Swansea, Lady, 195 

Swansea, Lord, 193, 195 

Syracuse, 254 



Tarifa, 242 
Terry, Ellen, 237 
Terry, Kate, 237 
Terry, Marion, 238 
Townsend, Dr. and Mrs., 64-66 
Townsend, Franklin, 62-64 
Townsend, Frederick, 52-55, 

59-62 
Townsend, Mrs. Solomon, 40 
Townshend, Anne (afterwards 

Mrs. Henry Hull Martin), 

29, 31, 32, 50-51, 68 
Townshend, Hannah, 28, 33- 

38, 46, 51, 103 
Townshend, Henry, 26-28, 31, 

38 
Townshend, Horatio, 26 
Townshend, Isaiah, 31, 38, 63 
Townshend, John, 26, 27 
Townshend, Richard, 26, 27 
Townshend, Roger, 26 
Tranby Croft, 196 
Travers, Mr., 95 



INDEX 



297 



Troup, Governor 

N. Y.), 31 
Tuxedo Park, 260 
Tyrol, 246 

U 

Uffington, Lord, 285 



(State of W 

Waddington, Madame, 222 
White, Mr. and Mrs. Henry, 

132, 158 
Whitechapel, 239 
Williams, Mrs. Hwfa, 218 
Wilson, Mrs. Arthur, 196 



Vanderbilt, Miss, 218 

Vanderbilt, W. K., 235 

Victoria, Queen, 102, 103, 170- 
172 

Vivian, Sir Hussey (after- 
wards Lord Swansea), 194 



Yorke, Alec., 170-172, 266 
Yorke, Eliot, 162 
Young Men's Association, 81, 
83-87 



'Wi 



Y^uh^'^u^ ] 



c 



